Second Son
by Evey Edge
Summary: AU about what would have happened if Reddington and not the Major had picked up a 14 year old Jacob. Keen2 eventually.
1. Worth

Reddington strode through the warehouse, moving at twice the pace he generally preferred. He'd found the casual amble created a far better impression on adversaries and would-be business associates. A smile and stroll while brandishing a gun was apparently incredibly off-putting to some. Reddington had no time for pretenses at the moment. He needed to find his young, fool-hardy associate and ascertain the extent of his injuries. Then perhaps he would ring his neck. Reddington spotted Dembe outside the curtain of plastic the medical team had erected.

"How is he?"

"He took a bullet in the shoulder, but the doctor claims it missed anything vital. He'll need to rest, but he'll be fine." Relief flooded through him. He'd been negotiating an arms deal with a particularly unstable seller. Reddington's flight had been delayed do to inclement weather, and it had seemed both he and the payment wouldn't be able to make the exchange. He had ordered Jacob and Dembe to attempt, via phone, to postpone the sale. When the negotiations fell through, Jacob had elected to attempt alternative means of securing the merchandise.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that." The boy was cocky and pig-headed and it would get him killed one day if he wasn't careful. Reddington didn't know what he'd have to do to beat that into Jacob's skull, but he would find a way.

"Raymond, he only meant to-" Reddington cut him off mid-sentence.

"I am well aware of what he meant to do. He was reckless. Foolish." Dembe sighed, too honest to argue the point.

"He was trying to please you." Reddington felt a familiar stab of conscience. He had stressed to Jacob the importance of securing the arms for the client. Still that didn't excuse his behavior.

"He nearly got himself killed." Jacob either believed in his own invulnerability or didn't place a high premium on his personal safety. Reddington wasn't sure which explanation he liked least.

"You would have lost the weapons." This was true. Despite the injury Jacob had sustained, he had been successful acquiring the merchandise. This no doubt would be the first sentence out of Jacob's mouth when he awoke from surgery.

"I nearly lost him." There were worse things in life than losing clients. Jacob had been with him for seven years. He was one of the few individuals Reddington allowed himself to care about these days. He'd buried too many people already. Jacob would not become another. The trouble was Raymond had no idea how to combat the threat that came from Jacob himself.

Jacob had always pushed himself to the limit trying to demonstrate his value. It was a defense mechanism triggered by a deep rooted fear of abandonment. Somewhere in Jacob's mind he felt he needed to be constantly of use, or else he would be left by the wayside. Reddington had understood it in the beginning, but seven years had past and the compulsion was still there.

"I don't know what to do with him. What else I can say, what else I can do to…" Reddington ran a hand through his hair as his voice trailed off. Any attempt he'd made to reassure the boy had failed miserably. Gestures and words of affection seemed to make Jacob uncomfortable. The boy was profoundly loyal and yet there was a distance there that did not exist between Reddington and Dembe.

"Give him time Raymond." Reddington would have smiled if he wasn't so frustrated. Dembe had grown so much from the boy he'd found chained to that pipe. He seemed to possess wisdom and patience far beyond his twenty-two years.

"It's been nearly a decade."

"You must remember he was not a fortunate I was." Reddington looked up at Dembe sharply.

"Fortunate?" Orphaned at six, and eight years as an underage sex slave was far from a charmed childhood.

"I had eight years of darkness, but I also had six years of light. I had the memory of what it was to be loved. To be whole. Jacob does not." Reddington reluctantly nodded. He'd had investigated Jacob's background after picking him up, just to be sure he didn't have a family anxiously awaiting his return.

The boy was removed from his biological mother's negligent care at five years old, and from there was tossed around the system like an unwanted football. Things had gotten especially rough towards the end, prompting the boy to flee to New York. There Jacob have managed to lift a briefcase containing sensitive materials belonging to an incompetent Russian diplomat. The diplomat had hired Reddington to locate the missing case and avoid Moscow finding out.

Something about the boy's brashness and obvious intelligence drew Reddington to him. Leaving him there seemed like such a waste of potential. Dembe had been struggling at the time and he'd wondered if a boy of similar age might be helpful to his recovery. He'd been right…eventually, after several brawls and a few broken bones.

Still, as much of a handful they had been, Dembe and Jacob had helped ease the ache of Reddington's loneliness. Having them to love and protect had saved him from his own despair. These days he often thought if he owed them far more than they ever did him.

They'd both grown into strong, and capable young men. Reddington couldn't deny they'd been valuable to his growing organization in recent years. Jacob aptitude in particular was astonishing. He was a sponge, absorbing every lesson and skill. He was a savant when it came to strategy and subterfuge. The boy had all the makings of a major player in the criminal underworld, which was why Reddington should probably have sent him away from it years ago.

"I should never have allowed either of you to be a part of this." Reddington knew only too well that having an aptitude for something, didn't mean it was healthy for you.

"We must all find our own paths, Raymond. Jacob is no exception." Reddington snorted. Dembe had recently become desirous to return to his homeland and join with the freedom fighters there. Reddington had been able to stall him over the past few months by telling Dembe he needed him at his side, but he doubted that would hold much longer.

"He never gave college a chance. I have yet to see the environment he was not capable of making himself at home in." Upon Reddington's urging Jacob had remained enrolled at a prestigious university for precisely one semester. He attended all of his classes, achieved a perfect 4.0 grade point average, and at the end of it told Reddington he would swallow bullet before spending one more minute with the "naive, useless, brain-dead" occupants of the school, more commonly known as the faculty.

"No, you've never seen the environment he couldn't APPEAR at home in. He wishes to remain with you. He admires you. He trusts you in so much as he's able. If you wish to help him, then let help you. Let him feel he is proving his worth to you."

"He doesn't need to prove his worth to me." Stubborn, frustrating, brilliant, funny boy. Jacob was one of the few things that brought color to Reddington's bleak and unbearable world. If only Jacob could see himself through Reddington's eyes. Dembe reached out and rested a hand on Reddington's shoulder.

"I know. But hopefully along the way, he will proof his worth to himself."


	2. Brothers

_The cyrillic alphabet was giving Jacob a headache. It looked like a bunch of scribbles mixed in with real letters. Trying to learn Russian was a stupid idea. That briefcase and whatever was in it was bad news. If he was smart he'd drop it in the nearest dumpster and move on._

 _When he'd stolen the case, he hadn't realise the kind of trouble it would bring him. He'd thought he was making a smart move, changing up his usual game plan. Picking pockets and swiping purses just wasn't good enough. People rarely carried much cash anymore and credit cards came with so many problems. The low payout made it necessary to steal frequently, which increased the chances of getting caught. Watching the businessmen and lawyers scurry from place to place, it occurred to Jacob that each of them seem to carry briefcases. How important those cases must be to those men for them to lug them around. How much they much they must be worth to those rich dicks. Legal document, reports, confidential notes. The possibilities were endless. How much would they pay to have them returned, if they were stolen?_

*"а ты говоришь по русски?" _Jacob's head snapped up and he found himself looking at a man in his mid-thirties with short brown hair. He wore a heavy coat, leather gloves, and one of those funny looking, Indiana Jones hats. His stance was non-threatening and he had a broad smile pasted across his face. Probably just an over-friendly adult. Jacob wished he could tell him to take a hike, but the last thing he needed was for the guy to complain about him to someone. This library was one of the few safe warm left in the city for kids like him. The librarians and clerks turned a blind eye to children who spent their school days in the building, particularly on cold winter days like this one. If he got in trouble they just might make him go or worse, call the police on him._

^"я изучаю." _The man nodded at Jacob's no doubt butchered pronunciation and Jacob deliberately looked back down at the book, hoping the guy would take the hint._

" _Not the easiest language to learn." Unlike body language, and yet this idiot didn't seem to understand it._

" _I like a challenge." Jacob let just enough irritation seep into his words to make it obvious to a semi-aware individual that he wanted to be left alone._

" _As do I. Tracking you down for example wasn't as simple as I expected it to be. Where's the case Jacob?" Holy shit. Jacob schooled his face into its most innocent and confused expression before looking back up._

" _Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else." Jacob's mind quickly sorted through options. The man was standing between Jacob and the stairs leading to the lobby. There was no way to get by him, not without doing something first. He could flip the table or call for help. Of course either of those options would draw attention to himself, and that was the last thing he wanted. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this. "Seriously dude, take a hike."_

" _I'm afraid I can't leave until you tell me where you've stashed the briefcase you stole." The man seemed pretty damn sure of himself, which was not good. Time to raise the stakes._

" _Look buddy, I don't know anything about a briefcase and if you don't leave right now I'm going to start screaming for someone to call the police. You want to explain to them why you're harassing an underage boy in a public library?" The man's hand dipped into his pocket and for a frightening moment Jacob thought he would pull out a gun. Instead a portable phone emerged. The man placed it on the middle of the table._

" _By all means, call them yourself." The man tilted his head and waited. Jacob had no idea what to do. Lying his way out seemed to be failing. He had to decide which would be worse the police or the stranger in the funny hat. The police meant a one way ticket to Juvie. The guy hadn't pulled a gun on him yet and they were still a public place. Screaming for help was still an option if it looked like things were getting violent. "I didn't think so. As I was saying the case's owner would like it returned."_

" _Then he should have paid me like he was supposed to. All I asked for was a lousy grand. How much is he paying you?" Who was this guy anyway? Some kind of PI? First the thugs that were at the initial exchange and now this. What kind of tab was the Russian douche running at this point?_

" _Considerably more than that." That meant the documents in that case were worth far more than what he'd asked. Ironically Jacob never would have known that if the guy had just held up his end of the deal._

" _What a moron." The man shrugged, though the look in his eye suggested he didn't exactly disagree with Jacob's assessment._

" _He didn't trust you deliver on your word. Also his ego was a bit bruised after being gamed by a teenager." God, adults could be such babies._

" _How did you find me?" Jacob didn't understand where he'd gone wrong. He'd been careful, worn a baseball cap to hide from the airport's many cameras. No one should have been able to find him._

" _Your friend gave me a description." Kevin. Jacob wasn't even a little surprised. The kid was an idiot, which was one of the reasons Jacob had enlisted his help. The other reason was that Kevin was a close enough physical match for Jacob to be mistaken for him at a distance. He'd told the Russian to drop the money in the waste bin of a Men's toilet in JFK airport and to wait by payphone for further instructions. For twenty bucks Kevin agreed to walk into the bathroom, no questions asked. The idea was to draw out any uninvited guests and it had worked. They'd moved in on Kevin and Jacob had moved the hell out._

" _I don't have any friends." In street life caring about other people made you vulnerable, so for once Jacob's little 'natural defect' as one of his social workers so charmingly put it was an asset. He and Kevin had made a deal and they'd both held up their ends. If things hadn't turned out great for Kevin that wasn't on Jacob._

" _Well, then the canary you sent down the coal mine. Smart play by the way. In fact all of it was very well thought out. Public place, plenty of people to blend in with." Jacob's eyes narrowed, trying to figure why the guy felt the need to kiss his ass._

" _What makes you think I even have the case anymore?"_

" _I don't think you're learning Russian for the hell of it. Rest assured I have no intention of cheating you out of your fee. As far as I'm concerned you earned it. Here's half as a good faith deposit. You'll get the rest when you deliver the case to my hotel. Here's the address." The man passed over a wad of cash and small card with an address scribbled on the back. Jacob couldn't believe it. Was this guy really paying him and walking away without what he came for?_

" _How do you know I won't just take your money and split?" The man had managed to find him in less than three days, so he clearly wasn't an idiot._

" _Because you're smart enough to realise that if I can find you once, I can find you again and next time I might not be as generous. I look forward to hearing from you." The man made it about five feet towards the stairs before stopping and turning back. "Whatever it was that drove you from your home, surely it has to be better than this." Jacob couldn't tell if that was a statement or a question._

" _What the hell is it to you?" This guy didn't know him, didn't know his life. Did he really think Jacob was some kind of spoiled rich kid who'd taken to sleeping under bridges to get back at daddy? Jacob wished that were true._

" _I suppose I abhor wasted potential." Potential. Funny, that was probably the first time anyone had ever used that word to describe him._

" _Yeah, well you got any other suggestions?" He'd meant it as a meaningless snark, but the man in the hat tilted his head, as though seriously considering his words._

" _I'll be staying in town for the week on business and necessity dictates that I be in meetings for most of it. There's a young man traveling with me, about your age. It might be good for him to get out of the room someone who knows the city and can keep him out of trouble. I will pay you $500 a day plus any expenses." Jacob's mouth actually fell open at the suggestion. Was this guy for real? $500 a day for seven days? That was $3500. Add the thousand for the case and he would be set for awhile. He tried to keep his expression neutral. Something that seemed too good to be true usually was._

" _So you want me to what, babysit? Keep him safe from the bad element in the big bad city?" Who was this kid? Some kind of mentally handicapped shut in?_

" _I am confident the 'bad element' will steer clear of the two of you." Jacob eyes narrowed yet again, this time at the smirk on the man's face._

" _Why's that?" The man's smile became enigmatic._

" _You'll understand when you meet Dembe."_

Jacob awoke from his dream to the sound a heart monitor's beeping. He was just about to yank it out when he caught sight of the large man standing only three feet off the foot of his bed.

"Hello my brother. It is good to see you awake." Dembe's warm serene smile, instinctively brought one of Jacob's own to his face. If someone had told Jacob seven years ago that the surly looking behemoth Reddington had introduced him to would one day be calling Jacob his brother, Jacob would have laughed in their face.

"Good to be awake. Is he pissed?" Dembe had argued against the heist, reminding Jacob that they hadn't been given the go ahead, but Jacob had insisted they move. If they hadn't, the shipment would have been lost and Reddington would have to deal with some deeply unsatisfied customers. Despite getting shot, Jacob still believed it was the right call.

"Raymond is...concerned." Jacob sighed, knowingly that 'concerned' was Dembe speak for irrate.

"Did you tell him I secured the package?" Shouldn't he get credit for the success of the operation? Would a thank you be too much to ask, especially considering the only casualty had been his own shoulder.

"Of course. He should return from delivering it soon."

"So he can chew me out." Jacob clenched his jaw in irritation. Reddington got a happy client and a pay day and Jacob was going to be ripped a new one. How was that fair?

"You frightened him." The idea of Raymond Reddington being frightened was almost comical. Jacob had seen his boss stare down a dozen semi-automatic rifles without breaking a sweat.

"He knows I can handle myself. He's just mad I made the decision on my own without checking with him. We both know he would made the exact same call." Raymond Reddington had not gotten to his current position in the criminal underworld by playing it safe.

"Perhaps, if it were him, not you." Dembe was probably right.

"Because he doesn't trust me." He'd heard it so many times from Reddington: He was too reckless, too impulsive, too foolhardy.

"Because he doesn't want to risk you. Jacob, one day you will have to learn the difference between being bold and being rash." Jacob snorted. Dembe was in no position to be giving lectures at this point.

"Says the guy who can't wait to go get his ass shot off for no reason at all." Jacob couldn't begin to wrap his head around Dembe's desire to return to the Sudan. He had hoped that Reddington, whose persuasive powers knew no bounds, would talk him out of it, but Dembe was apparently unmoved by his arguments.

"You've made you opinion on my plan to rejoin my countrymen in a fight for their freedom very clear." When Dembe had first told Jacob of his ambition, Jacob had lost his temper for the first time in years. He'd yelled and cursed and Dembe had stoically stood, silently taking all of the abuse while saying nothing in response. Naturally this had lead to more yelling and cursing on Jacob's part.

"Your countrymen? Please. What the hell did that country or those people ever do for you? Jack shit. You owe them nothing." The Sudanese people hadn't stopped Dembe's parents from being murdered or brought their killers to justice. They hadn't saved him from the flesh peddlers he'd been sold to or rescued him when he'd been left to die. The only person Dembe owed any allegiance to was Reddington as far as Jacob was concerned.

"It is not about a debt, it is about doing what is right." Jacob rolled his eyes. Morality wasn't something that Jacob was terribly interested in, at least not the traditional kind.

"You don't know anything about those people. You really going to trust them to have your back?" Jacob was intensely suspicious of groups lead by a cause. They always seemed to believe that their goal was worth more than any one member. Dembe would be the new man, the outsider, the one most likely to be sacrificed if sacrifices were to be made.

"There was a time when you and I were strangers." So that was it, Dembe was going off to find a new family, a new brother, and leave Jacob behind. He was surprised how much more that hurt than his shoulder wound.

"Yeah and if you do this that's exactly what we're going back to being." If Dembe wanted to throw his life away, fine. Jacob didn't need him. Not really. He didn't need anyone.

"Jacob, look at me." Jacob reluctantly turned back to look his friend in the eye. "You and I are brothers. Neither distance, nor time, nor even death can change that. But I must go where I am needed." Jacob felt a terrible ache in his chest. Damn Dembe for making him feel like this.

"You're needed here. Reddington-"

"Raymond does not need me. He has you. And you have him." Jacob grimaced. Reddington had been good to Jacob, no question, but their relationship had never been easy. Dembe had stated on more than one occasion it was because they were far too much alike. There was respect, loyalty, but Jacob had never felt, fully comfortable. A part of him still felt like an intruder on the unit that had been Reddington and Dembe. With Dembe gone, he didn't know what that would do their already strained bond. Additionally this wasn't the best moment to find out.

"He's hasn't been himself lately. Something is wrong, even though he won't admit it, at least not me. Has he said anything to you?" Dembe shook his head.

"No, but I have seen it too. Talk to him." Easier said than done.

"That's more your area than mine." It was ironic, given how little Dembe spoke in general, but he had a way of reaching Reddington in a way Jacob could only marvel at.

"Try. For me." Jacob sighed and dropped his head back on his pillow. Facing a choice between interrogating Reddington and getting shot in the shoulder again, he'd take being shot every time.

 **Thanks for being so patient and special thanks to Tanikasaiko for inspiring the beginning of this chapter!**

 ***Do you speak Russian?**

 **^I'm learning.**

 **If my Russian is wrong blame Google Translate!**


	3. Trust

_When Raymond returned to the hotel room he found Dembe exactly where he'd left him, sitting in the chair, sketching fervently. The boy's body had made a remarkable recovery in the past year. Thanks to a steady diet of nutritious food and exercise Dembe now had muscle mass that befitted his impressive frame. His mind and soul sadly hadn't healed as completely. Reddington had tried dozen of councilors, but the only thing that Dembe seemed to respond to was art therapy. Wherever Dembe went, wherever Reddington brought him, he always had the pad and pencil in hand. At first Raymond had been elated he'd found a hobby that brought him joy, but after a while it became more and more apparent this was merely the newest way Dembe had elected to retreat from the world. Something had to be done._

 _Reddington had no idea whether this experiment with Jacob Phelps would be a success, but it couldn't hurt to try. The young thief was different from Dembe in many respects. There was a slyness to him Dembe utterly lacked. He remembered the way the boy's eyes had watching him, assessing, calculating risk. The way he'd lied to Reddington point blank hoping to out bluff him. Still there had been something that had made him make the offer to Jacob, something that made him believe that the boy was the answer he'd been seeking. By know he'd learned not to doubt his gut instinct._

 _The man he'd hired to follow to Jacob had called fifteen minutes ago to confirm that the boy had recovered the briefcase and was currently riding a subway line that let off near the hotel. He should arrive shortly, which meant Raymond needed to prepare Dembe._

" _Dembe, I need to speak with you." The boy stopped his sketching and silently looked up at Raymond. "I'm meeting with clients today and will be gone for most of the afternoon. I think it would be a good idea for you to spend some time out in the city."_

" _I do not want to." Hardly unexpected, but still frustrating. Raymond wanted so badly to show the boy that there was more to the world than the ugliness that had been his youth._

" _New York can be a wonderful place to explore. There are so many things to do here. I've arranged for a local boy to show you the sites. He'll be here any minute. His name is Jacob." Dembe's scowl deepened._

" _I do not wish to meet him." Again Reddington wasn't surprised. Dembe was distrustful of anyone who wasn't him, not that Reddington could blame him._

" _Dembe, please. You know I want only what's best for you. It would be good for you to spend time with someone your own age." There was a long pause before Dembe nodded reluctantly._

" _He may stay, but I will not go out." With that Dembe put his head back down and resumed his sketching. Well, it was something. Two firm knocks drew Reddington to door. He checked the peephole and confirmed it was the young pickpocket. The briefcase was is his left hand and his right was casually resting in his jacket pocket. There was no bulge indicating a gun, but Reddington suspected there was a small knife concealed in his hand. The boy was reasonably nervous about meeting a strange man at his hotel room. Reddington doubted it was anything more than a precautionary measure, so there was no need to call him out on it. Reddington opened the door and stepped out into the hall._

" _Mr. Phelps. Thank you for returning my case." Reddington reached into his pocket, removed the five hundred dollar bills, and offered the money to the boy. Jacob set the brief on the floor and took the cash from Red's outstretched hand._

" _Aren't you going to check it?" Jacob nodded at the briefcase at Reddington's feet._

" _In a moment. First, I wish to speak to you about Dembe."_

" _That's the kid I'm watching, right?" Reddington smiled wanly at term 'kid'. He wished the word applied more than it did. Dembe's childhood had ended long ago. Reddington suspected the same could be said of Jacob's. What a wretched place the world could be, stealing the innocence of the young._

" _Yes. Dembe is not a native of this country and his life experiences have make him somewhat withdrawn. He's told me he wishes to remain in the hotel. I'd still like for you to remain here with him at the price we've agreed on. If however you are able to persuade him to take in some of the sites there would be a bonus for you." Jacob's poker face failed to fully conceal the excitement in his eyes at the word 'bonus'._

" _How much?"_

" _$100 extra, per day."_

" _$300."_

" _$200."_

" _Done." Jacob's smile was confident and maybe even a little smug. Reddington suspected it wasn't just the prospect of wealth that had elevated Jacob's mood. The boy enjoyed the bartering. What was it he had said in the library? 'I like a challenge.' It made sense. The type of person who risked a ransom drop, rather than continuing to pick pockets was someone who liked pushing the limits. Drive like that couldn't be taught. It would be interesting to see that will being focused into persuading Dembe to change his mind. What was it that happened when an unstoppable force met an immovable object? Reddington couldn't wait to find out._

"I'm sorry." Jacob's voice ushered Reddington out of his memories and back into the present. He looked over at the bed to see the young man sitting up in the bed. Reddington had returned early that morning and upon discovering Jacob still slumbered had decided to wait in the makeshift hospital room. His mind had clearly drifted so much that he hadn't realized his wayward ward had woken up.

"No, you're not." Jacob wasn't repentant, he never was. He was trying to blunt Reddington reaction, or perhaps heed Dembe's advice on how to handle his present predicament. Either way the apology was not sincere.

"Alright, fine, I'm not. Happy?" There was the hint of defiance Reddington had come to expect. Provoking yes, but at least it was genuine.

"Not remotely." Reddington prided himself at being a master problem-solver, but he was at his wits end. They had had this same conversation dozens of times and yet nothing seemed to come of it. It seemed the definition of insanity to have it again.

"So what's it going to be this time? A lecture? A long meandering story of your youth that may or may not be true, connecting back to a lesson about not taking risks?" Apparently Reddington wasn't the only one sick of the circular routine.

"I doubt anything I had to say would have an impact. You've made up your mind that you made the right decision."

"I did. I got the job done and the only casualty was my shoulder." Reddington inhaled deeply trying to control his rising temper. A shouting match would help no one.

"A marginally successful result does not validate your choice. It could have been much worse." This was what frightened Reddington the most, the fact that Jacob didn't see that just because he'd been lucky once didn't mean he'd be lucky again. It was like the man who drove home drunk when nothing terrible happened, decided that meant it was safe for him to do it again and again. Eventually tragedy would strike, it was only a matter of time.

"It wasn't."

"What if it had been Dembe? What if he'd been the one shot? What if he'd been killed? Your own safety apparently doesn't mean anything to you. Does his?" Jacob's face darkened at Reddington's admittedly low blow. Whether by nurture or nature Jacob wasn't able to connect with people on the whole. He could fake it remarkably well, but true genuine feeling was exceedingly rare. Dembe seemed to be the rare exception. If anything would persuade Jacob his actions were poorly considered, the danger they'd placed Dembe in would.

"I told him not to come. He didn't listen." Reddington ran a hand through his hair.

"Of course not. He loves you. You have one of the most brilliant minds I've ever encountered and yet you fail to grasp that your life is tethered to his. It is tethered to mine. When you put yourself at risk, you put us all at risk. You still don't know how to be a part of a team. I need to be able to trust your judgement."

"Trust goes both ways." Reddington blinked at the unexpected jab.

"What does that mean?"

"Something has been going on with you for the past few months. Something is wrong and you haven't told me or Dembe what it is." Reddington was silent a moment. He hadn't realized he'd been that obvious. He supposed he should have expected it. Jacob was gifted in many areas, and reading body language was among them.

"It has nothing to do with you." This was the one part of his life he'd keep from everyone, with the exception of Kate. The information had to treated with the utmost caution. One slip, one piece of evidence, and the damage would be catastrophic. Everything he'd endured would be for nothing.

"So much for being a team."

"This is different." Reddington wished he hadn't caught the flash of hurt upon Jacob's features, before he erected his stone-faced facade.

"Do you know why I went after the weapons? Because I thought your business was in trouble. I thought maybe that that's what you were hiding. I was trying to fix it." As much as Red would have liked to dismiss it as an excuse, he knew it wasn't. That meant that the actions that had endangered both Jacob and Dembe could partially be laid at his door.

"It's not that."

"So what is it?" Reddington stared at Jacob's anxious face. He was right, it did come down to trust. Did Reddington truly believe that Jacob would directly or inadvertently betray him? No, he did not. Perhaps then he should share, at least a little, of the burden he was carrying. Reddington took off his hat and removed a photograph he'd been keeping in the interior lining. He walked over to Jacob's bed and passed the picture to him.

"Who is this?" Reddington stared at the image, which he knew so well by now he sometimes saw it in his dreams. Lizzy on the beach with Sam, smiling in her swimsuit. She looked so happy and thinking of her that way made the pain of being separated from her easier to bear. Now, though, he no longer had that comfort.

"Her name is Elizabeth Scott. I learned from her father that she's been...missing for some time now. Apparently she's run off with some petty delinquent named Frank. Her father's having a hard time tracking her down." He hated imagining Lizzy living the way he did, rootless, constantly looking over her shoulder. The fact that she had only a young grifter of unproven loyalty to protect her made it much worse.

"So are you going to help find her?" If only it were that simple.

"It would be imprudent of me to draw attention to her. As you're well aware, I'm not without enemies. My being associated with the girl would put her at greater risk." He lived in terror of that day, when his life would jeopardized Liz's. Raymond knew it was not a matter of 'if', but 'when', which of course was the reason he'd chosen the path he had. Every step he'd taken was so he would have the means and the knowledge to fight any and all who would come for her. He wasn't nearly ready yet, and if she was discovered now, it would be nothing short of disastrous.

"So let me go. I can flying under the radar. I'll find her, drag her home." Reddington was taken aback at Jacob's offer. Could it work? Jacob was gifted at being a ghost. The FBI didn't have his face on file. He could go to Nebraska without leaving a trail. The question was, would there be a point to his going?

"It would do little good to force her back home. If it isn't her choice to return, she'll only run again. I understand she is quite stubborn. She's not unlike you in that respect." Jacob smiled the same grin Reddington remembered from the first day he'd introduced him to Dembe.

"I think I can handle one teenage girl. Let me take care of this for you." Raymond thought of Dembe's advice to allow Jacob to help him. At the very worst it would keep Jacob away from armed heists for a while. At best Lizzy would be back under Sam's protection and he could once again sleep easy.

"Alright. After your shoulder heals." Jacob opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when he saw Reddington's expression. "At least one week of bed rest. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Good. And Jacob? Thank you."


	4. Hicksville

Jacob had never seen this much nothing in the whole of his life. The part of Nebraska he was currently driving through probably had a higher population of cows than people. No buildings except the farms that appeared every half mile or so. This was truly Hicksville, USA, and the last place Jacob would have expected to find a friend of Reddington's.

Jacob spotted the mailbox with the number that matched the address Reddington had given him. He pulled down the long drive until he was in front of a blue farmhouse. It was small, but well maintained. Sam Milhoan obviously took pride in his home.

Jacob lopped up the porch steps and knocked on the white door. After a minute a man with gray hair answered. Jacob first impression was that he had the face of a cowboy. Sam Milhoan's tanned skin and rugged features would have looked right at home in a John Wayne movie.

"Can I help you?" Though his words were polite, Milhoan's tone unmistakably said, "What the hell are you doing here?" Jacob offered his most charming smile.

"Actually, I'm here to help you. Our mutual friend told you I was coming." The cowboy's frown deepened.

"I expected someone a little older." Really, the guy was going to bust Jacob's balls about age, when the 50 year-old private eye he'd hired had turned up jack shit? Still, it probably wouldn't be prudent to bring that up. Milhoan's cooperation might prove useful, and the man was a friend of Reddington's.

"I get that alot. May I come in?" Milhoan paused a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

"Sure." He pulled opened the door and allowed Jacob to pass thru to the front hall. Milhoan gestured for Jacob to move into the living room. Clearly he thought they were going to sit down and chat, which frankly Jacob didn't have time for. The longer it took to find Elizabeth Scott, the greater the chance she'd be in trouble by the time he got there.

"I don't want to waste your time here, so I'll get right down to it: Why'd she run?" Reddington had mentioned a "delinquent" named Frank, but he'd had no more details to offer than that.

"How that will help you find her?" Answering a question with a question. Classic defensive maneuver. Interesting. Was Milhoan feeling guilty about something?

"It might not, but it'll definitely help me figure out how I should convince her to come back." This was not a situation where Jacob could knock his target over the head, zip tie her and deposit her back at her father's farm. He'd have to convince Scott she wanted to go home.

"Lizzie and I had always been close, but lately things have gotten...tense. She's become a young woman. Rebelling. It's a phase most teenagers go through." Was he being deliberately vague and unhelpful or was it pure coincidence he was speaking in cliches?

"Most teenagers don't run away, not for this long, not when they have a good place to come back to." Elizabeth and her father certainly seemed close enough in the photograph Reddington had shown him. Reddington, who knew the man well, swore he was a good father. If that was the case then why had Scott taken off?

"Liz is...strong willed. Smart. She has a temper and a hard time admitting when she's wrong." Getting information from this man was like pulling teeth.

"And what is she wrong about?"

"Her boyfriend. Frank Geller. High school dropout. He's a petty thief." Jacob felt the disapproval in the man's voice was somewhat ironic, given his close friendship with Raymond Reddington, but resisted the urge to point it out to Milhoan.

"Can I see her room?" Hopefully he find something there to help give him a better sense of the girl. Something wasn't quite jiving with the story he was being told by Reddington and Milhoan. Both of them described Elizabeth Scott as being strong-willed, and smart. That didn't sound like a girl who'd risk her future to play Bonnie and Clyde with some two-bit grifter.

The first thing that struck Jacob as he stepped into the bedroom of Elizabeth Scott was that she was a girl of contractions. She had two framed posters in her room, one of Destiny's Child and the other of Elvis Presley. Ballet shoes rested on a shelf, next to a framed photo of Elizabeth at a gun range. Modern Pop and oldies Rock. Dancing and firearms. Her tastes were eclectic to say the least.

"Not a lot of photos of friends." There were a few group shots from what looked like a well attended birthday party, but none of Elizabeth with just one or two other girls. Her smile was different than the one he'd seen in the photo Reddington had shown him. It was pleasant, but...less free somehow. The effect of age perhaps?

"There was a group she used to spend time with, but in the past year she's fallen out of touch with them."

"Because of the boyfriend?" Jacob's eyes fell on a framed photo of Elizabeth and her father on the desk. They were standing in front of a truck and had their arm draped around each other's back. Though the photo couldn't have been much more than a year old Milhoan looked completely different than the sour man who'd greeted Jacob at the door. His face was lit with good humor and obvious love for the girl beside him. As for Elizabeth, she wore the same infectious grin he'd seen in Reddington's photograph. Something about that smile made it hard to look away. The photograph seemed to substantiate Milhoan's claim that he and his daughter had been close. Comparing this photo to the one in which she was surrounded by 'friends' it was clear who she was more comfortable with.

"No, it happened before. And I suppose she was never really...close with any of them." So whatever changed happened before the arrival of Frank Geller. He was a symptom, not the disease. Jacob turned his attention to the computer on Scott's desk. That was probably his best bet to finding out what Scott had been up to in the past few months. He pushed the power button and dropped down into the seat. As soon as it booted up it asked for a login password.

"I don't suppose you know her password?"

"No." Jacob sighed. It couldn't be easy.

"Okay. I'm going to need her phone number, birthday, and social security number. Throw your birthday and social on there too." To his credit, Milhoan only hesitated about a five seconds before doing as Jacob asked.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I need to work, and I'd prefer it if you weren't hovering while I do. If I need anything I'll call you." Milhoan scowled, but nodded and left the room.

"Okay Elizabeth. Just you and me now. What makes you tick?" He started with the boyfriend's first name followed by every combination of the personal numbers he could think of. He did the same with the last name. Nothing. He tried Milhoan's name next with the same result. He attempted using her favorite bands, inputting the artists' names, and their most notable song titles. Zip.

Jacob rose from the chair and circled the room until he came to Scott's bedside table. Next to the alarm clock rested a well-worn copy of The Wizard of Oz. Farm girl in the middle of nowhere takes fantastical journey. No wonder she seemed to enjoy it.

He grabbed the book and brought it back to the computer desk. He tried the title, the author, 'dorothy' 'oz', 'toto',' no place like home', and 'kansas' without success. Jacob rubbed his neck. What else? What would a teenage girl use as her password? His eyes fell on the ballet shoes. Shoes. Maybe that was it. When the computer rejected all possible combinations of "ruby" and "slippers" Jacob felt ready to toss the computer out the window. He knew Reddington had people who could crack this in under an hour, but Reddington had made it clear he wasn't to use any of the network contractors unless it was an absolute emergency. Besides Jacob wanted to do this himself to prove to Red he was trustworthy and that he could get things done.

Of course, it was going to be hard to prove that when he couldn't maintain to figure out a 17 year old's password. He cracked open the book and started flipping through the pages. It had been highlighted in spots and there were notes in the margins. I looked like Scott had been doing some kind of an analysis, probably for a school project. He studied the margins until he found: 'Silver shoes=silver standard.' That was it. The Judy Garland movie had the iconic ruby slippers because they were taking advantage of Technicolor, but the book had 'Silver shoes' take Dorothy home. Jacob typed 'Silver shoes' and just like that he was in.

Searching web history he was bombarded with websites on adoptees' rights. So Scott was adopted. Given the different last names, he'd assumed it was either that or her parents hadn't been married. Going into her emails he found hundreds missives to the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services, requesting information on her original birth certificate. A quick skim of the replies taught Jacob that her quest had been fruitless.

He imagined Elizabeth sitting at her desk, writing formal request after formal request, tapping sharply on the keyboard as she became more and more frustrated. Stubborn, smart, short tempered Elizabeth. A girl who didn't form close bonds with her peers and had given up the pretense. A girl who dreamed of magical journeys that would lead her home. Would a girl like that give up her search? No. She'd come up with a new plan.

Her father had been disdainful of Elizabeth's boyfriend, because he couldn't understand what his smart, beautiful daughter saw in a petty criminal, but Jacob did. What Elizabeth Scott had seen in Frank was someone willing to break the law. Someone who could help HER break the law. Jacob felt a smile creep across his features. Elizabeth wasn't some dumb lost little lamb lead astray by romantic delusions. She was a ruthless pragmatist, doing whatever took to achieve her goals. Jacob found that far more interesting.


	5. Deal

Liz's first conscious thought upon waking from her slumber was that she smelled bacon. It disoriented her so much that for a moment she thought she was home. It took her a second to take in the mustard walls with peeling paint and the lumpy mattress that she was sharing with her boyfriend. Wait…if Frank was here, who the hell was cooking bacon? Liz's heart started pounding in her chest as she stood and lightly tiptoed to the door. She could hear the sound of shoes on laminate and the sizzle of bacon in the pan. She quickly returned to the bed.

"Frank, get up!" she hissed in her boyfriend's ear. Frank moaned and turned over, squinting at the alarm clock.

"Christ Liz, it isn't even 8 yet." He attempted to flip back over, but she grabbed his shoulders.

"Someone is in our apartment cooking breakfast." Where was the gun?

"What? Breakfast?" Liz rolled her eyes and started rooting through the dresser drawers. She could swear the revolver had been in here.

"Where's the gun, Frank?" Frank looked at her blankly and shrugged.

"I don't know. Kitchen maybe?" She swore to God, Frank was lucky the gun wasn't in the drawer at this moment, otherwise she'd be tempted to shoot him. They were three floors up, no fire escape and nowhere go except out into their tiny shithole apartment with where a potential serial killer was waiting for them. "Liz, relax. The dude's probably just some crackhead too stoned to realise he's not in his own apartment." Liz hoped to hell Frank was right. She knocked loudly on their bedroom door.

"Hey asshole. If you're here to rob the place you should have figured out by we don't have any good shit to steal. Now I've got a cell phone in here I'm calling the cops so if you're smart you'll get the hell out before they get here." She held her breath and waited. A calm, friendly voice drifted back through the door.

"Elizabeth, we both know you won't be calling the cops. For one thing you'd have to explain the unregistered firearm someone left in your fruit bowl. Now why don't you and Frank come on out here. I assure you, I don't mean either of you any harm, and breakfast is almost ready." He knew their names. There was a potential psycho in their apartment and he knew their names.

"What do we do?" Frank was staring at her like she should have the answer to this situation, because God knew spending seventeen years on a farm equipped her to deal with a home invader. Liz took a deep breath. She could handle this, she just had to be smart.

"I'm going out there. Get your phone. Dial 911, but don't hit 'Send',' unless I tell you." She waited few moments, watching Frank follow her instructions. A part of her desperately wanted Frank to say something, to tell her to stay, or offer to go with her. Not that it would have changed her mind, but it would have been nice if he'd offered.

Liz mentally shook herself. She was being stupid. This was the smart play and Frank knew it. He was trusting her, trusting that she knew what she was doing, trusting that she could take care of herself. She didn't need Frank to protect her. She took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

The intruder was standing in the kitchen with his back to her. He was tall and lean, but Liz could tell there were some serious muscles going on underneath that tee-shirt. The kitchen table had been set for two people. A folder was sitting at to the right of the juice glass.

The man turn around and Liz blinked. Psycho man wasn't much older than she was, and he looked like a freaking male model. He smiled warmly at her like they were old friends.

"Good morning. Bacon?" This may have been that weirdest thing that had happened in Liz's life to date.

"Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in our apartment?!" If this guy thought she would be disarmed by a pretty face and a plate full of food, he had another think coming.

"At present I'm making you breakfast. You and I are about to do a little negotiating and I believe all business transactions should start off on the right foot. Seriously, have some bacon. Its extra crispy, just like you like it." He grabbed a piece from the place and popped it in his mouth. "See, delicious."

"How would you know how I like my bacon?"

"Your father told me." Liz blinked. Her father hired someone to track her down, break her into her apartment and cook for her?

"Bullshit." Even as the words came out of her mouth, she began to doubt them. The food the weirdo had made for her WAS her favorite. Bacon. Toast. Tea with two percent milk.

"I admit I wasn't his first choice. When the more senior detective struck out, he decided to take a chance on me." There was that smile again, ever so slightly crooked as though he found this whole situation amusing beyond words.

"So you're what? A PI?" What kind of PI breaks into the subject of his investigation apartment and cooks her breakfast? As far as Liz knew private investigators still had to obey the law. Was this guy even old enough to be a private investigator? Weren't PIs supposed to retired law enforcement officers? Nothing about this guy screamed cop, former or otherwise.

"Of a sort. By the way you can call your boyfriend to come on out. I'm clearly not armed, and I have to speak to him to him. Classy guy by the way, letting you come out here by yourself." Even as she bristled in Frank's defense a part of her couldn't help, but agree. She assessed the situation. Whoever the guy was he didn't pose an immediate physical threat. If he'd wanted to hurt either of them he would have done it already, gotten the drop on them while they were sleeping.

"Frank, it's alright." After about ten second Liz heard the door behind her ease open and suddenly Frank was standing at her side, still holding the cell phone.

"Frank Geller. What a pleasure. I have something for you on the table there. I'd pass them to you, but I don't want the pancakes to burn. Don't worry Elizabeth, they're for me, not you." So the PI knew she didn't like pancakes. It wasn't a state secret, but it definitely pointed to his story about her father hiring him being legitimate.

Frank cautiously approached the table and snatched the folder that had been sitting there. He flipped it open and stared.

"What the hell is this?" Liz grabbed the envelope out of his hands and found herself staring at a photo of Frank breaking into a car they'd stolen two weeks ago.

"I should think it's pretty obvious: they're photos of you breaking the law. Grand theft auto. Breaking and entering. Larceny. You have been busy, busy, busy. You can keep those by the way. I have copies. Here's the deal, Frank: You will leave this apartment now and never contact Elizabeth again, or I will be sending these to the nearest police station." Frank's face went white. He wasn't a minor anymore and there was enough evidence in this envelope to put him away for years. Frank looked at Liz, with that deer in the headlights expression of his.

"Don't look at her. Look at me. You will go to jail. Not Juvie. Jail. Now run along Frank." Frank swallowed hard and without looking at Liz, grabbed the keys to his car and took off without a word. Liz schooled her face into the most neutral expression she could manage, fighting off the wave of pain and betrayal. Frank hadn't loved her, and she'd known that. Still would it have killed him to have looked a little more conflicted about ditching her?

"Like I said before: classy guy." Hearing the voice of the asshole who'd just cost her her boyfriend sent a jolt of anger through her. Anger was good. She could work with anger.

"You didn't give him a choice." Why she was defending Frank, she had no idea. Maybe it was because something about the PI's tone was criticizing her taste, and not Frank.

"There's always a choice. Now why don't you sit down. Breakfast is getting cold." He really was a smug son of a bitch wasn't he? Arrogant too, thinking he had control of the situation, thinking now that Frank was gone she was just going to fold and do whatever he asked her to do. Still, playing along for the moment might be the smart play. Let him think he had the upperhand, and get him to lower his guard.

Liz sat in the chair the stranger had indicated and took a piece of bacon from the plate. The man smiled and joined her, bringing his stack of pancakes with her. The smell of the syrup made her want to yak.

"So you've been following us, taking pictures?" She was careful to keep her tone impassive, despite the rage churning within her. He nodded as he cut a perfect square of pancake with his butter knife.

"I have." They both ate in silence as Liz tried to process the information. This guy hadn't just found her. He'd been tailing them for a while and she'd missed it. She'd been sloppy and stupid.

"You have some of me too?" They hadn't been in the folder, but she'd been with Frank when he'd committed those crimes.

"I do." So what was this guy's game? He was going to blackmail her into going home? No chance in hell. In a split second she flipped the table onto the PI, who leap back with remarkable quick reflexes. Liz lept over the mess she'd made and swung her first punch, a right hook, which he'd dodged.

"Liz, calm down." His eyes were slightly widened and his face had lost it's smirk.

"My name's Elizabeth." She' feigned right, and jabbed hard left, catching him in the cheekbone.

"Elizabeth, you don't want to do this."

"Where are the originals?" If he gave her what she wanted, he was more than welcome to leave. If he didn't, then he brought this on himself.

"I am not here to hurt you." Did he really think she was scared of him? If she was, she was too pissed at present to feel it.

"Wrong answer." Liz swung again, but this time the PI caught her arm and use it to flip her onto her back. In a moment he was on top her, pinning her to the ground.

"I am not your enemy. I can get you what you want." His last sentence made her pause. What she wanted? How the hell would he know what she wanted?

"And what is that?" He couldn't know could he? No one knew, not her father, not even Frank.

"Answers about your birth parents." Who was this guy?

"How did you know about that?"

"I read your email." Liz felt her anger start to rise again, but she forced it down. She had more important things to worry about than an invasion of her privacy.

"Does my dad know?" The PI raised an eyebrow as though her question surprised him.

"That you were looking for your birth records? No. I didn't tell him." Liz relaxed a little. One promise she had made to herself when she had started down this road was that her father not be involved in the search for her birth parents. She could remember when she was eight and her dad had offered to get her name changed to Mulhuin. She'd said she didn't want to and Sam had said he was fine with her decision, but deep down she'd always wondered if she'd hurt him with her choice. She didn't know how to tell her father she wanted answers about her biological family, without making it sound as though she thought he wasn't enough family for her.

"So what's your offer?" Whatever it was she hoped he made it fast. With her anger ebbing away Liz was becoming more and more affected by the fact she was currently being pinned to the ground by a young hot guy. It didn't apparently matter to her hormones said guy had broken stalked her, broken into her apartment and blackmailed her boyfriend into leaving her.

"I get you a look at the records, you go home to your Dad. And no more Frank. Deal?" Liz bit her lip. Could it really be that simple? Then again what did she have to lose?

"Deal."


	6. Poking the Bear

_The hotel room's television screen blinked from a western to a daytime soap to a basketball game. Although Jacob's eyes were on the screen, his focus was his peripheral view of Shaq Jr. His actual name was Dembe, according to Reddington, but since the kid didn't respond to Jacob, no matter what he called him, Jacob figured he could use whatever name he felt like._

 _It had been a long four hours. Jacob had made an effort to be friendly to the behemoth he'd been left to babysit. He'd offered to take the kid anywhere from video game arcades to strip clubs, but Shaq Jr. had not said one freaking word to him. He hadn't even responded when Jacob had asked what he wanted for lunch. Jacob had ultimately ordered them both steaks with fries, figuring if the unjolly brown giant didn't want it, Jacob would eat it later._

 _He was feeling irritated and objectively he knew he had little reason to be. This had been a good day. He was being well-paid to sit in a warm, safe hotel room and watch TV. Reddington had told him he was under no obligation to get the kid out of the room, or even engage him in conversation. So what if he didn't get the bonus money? Jacob had offered his babysittee every possible enticement to leave. It wasn't his fault Shaq Jr. wasn't interested in anything, but sketching in his little art pad. He should just let things lie, and spend the next week goofing off, enjoying room service, and watching TV. It would be the smart play. He sighed and landed on the sports channel. Orlando Magic Vs Las Angeles Lakers._

" _Hey Shaq Jr. You're Dad's on TV." Jacob was shocked when the boy lifted his head to look Jacob right in the eye._

" _Do not speak of my father." The giant turned his attention back to the art pad. Jacob was perplexed. Had he accidently struck a nerve?_

" _Wow, six whole words. Let me just ask, while you're in such a chatty mood: what is the deal will you and Reddington? I mean you guys don't exactly look related." Shaq Jr. didn't acknowledge the comment, but Jacob would swear his grip on the pencil was tightening._

" _Do you work for him? Because I'm having trouble seeing it. Don't get me wrong you're a big freaking hulk, and you probably could act as his bodyguard or muscle or whatever, but I got to think anyone who's too chicken shit to leave his hotel room wouldn't be a hell of a lot of use to him."_

 _The pencil snapped inside the kid's huge hands and Jacob felt enormously gratified at the reaction. Finally he was having some kind of impact on the mountain man. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered he should probably stop, but Jacob was easily able drown it out. He was sick of being ignored, of being treated like he was nothing, not just by this kid, but by everyone he'd ever known. He was going to heard, even if it amounted to nothing more that the a fly's buzzing in the giant's ear._

" _Are you like a pet? A mascot maybe? Or are you his boyfriend-" Shaq Jr. charged at him so suddenly Jacob didn't have time to react. Before he knew it, he found himself thrown backward into the hotel dresser. Jacob felt a sharp pain as the back of his head made contact with the edge of the furniture._

" _Never speak disrespectfully of me or Raymond, ever again!" Jacob blinked, more concerned at the moment with the back of his head than the aspiring WWF fighter who had thrown him across the room like a ragdoll. He gingerly touched the back of his skull and his fingers came back wet with blood._

" _Shit." This wasn't good. The amount of blood suggested this wasn't some dinky cut he could just ignore. He'd need stitches at the very least and stitches meant an urgent care establishment. Those places were filled with helpful adults dying to turn him in to social services. He glanced up a Shaq to find his expression had transformed from rage to guilt._

" _You need a doctor." Jacob rolled his eyes and stood. The room swam a bit, but he was able to steady himself._

" _No shit, Sherlock. Does Reddington keep first aid stuff around here?" The behemoth nodded and went into the room's bathroom. When he emerged he was carrying bandages and scissors._

" _Sit." Jacob was tempted to refuse the command, simply for the sake of refusing, but for once his better judgment prevailed. He let Shaq Jr. bandage his head and the guy was surprising gentle, especially considering he'd been the one to crack it in the first place. When the giant was finished Jacob pulled his thick cotton cap over his head. He checked in the mirror to make sure the bandages were hidden. With a little bit of luck Reddington wouldn't notice and he could convince his attacker not to say anything. He'd been so stupid screwing up the biggest potential pay day he'd ever had, just to run his mouth._

" _Here." Jacob turned to see his babysittee was thrusting a card with a scribbled address. "There is a doctor there. Kozlov. Tell him Raymond sent you and he will help you."_

" _Thanks." Jacob put the card in his pocket and went into the bathroom for a washcloth to clean the dresser with. He needed to removed all evidence of this little incident. He could feel Shaq Jr.'s eyes were still on him. When he finished he shoved the washcloth into his jeans and sat back down on the bed, intending to watch TV for the remaining hours of babysitting duty._

" _Why are you still here?" It took Jacob a moment to realise the kid had expected him to take the card and run out the door to get his head checked out._

" _Reddington's isn't back yet." Reddington's firing him would have a worse long term effect than losing a little blood. The bandages were applied pressure, slowing the blood flow, and he hadn't blacked out. He'd be fine. Probably._

" _You need a doctor now." Damn the kid was stubborn. Shaq Jr. was probably worried Jacob was going to rat him him out. He didn't need to stress about that, as Jacob could hardly accuse the guy without admitting what he's said to set him off._

" _I need this job more. I'm not going to tell him, if that's what you're worried about." The giant's scowl deepened. Abruptly he marched over to the closet and removed a winter coat, hat, gloves, and scarf._

" _We go now." Jacob blinked, unable to process what was happening. This kid had been adamant about not leaving the hotel for any reason, but he was willing to face the elements so that Jacob could go see a doctor right away? Jacob didn't get it. What was the angle Shaq Jr. was playing here? He knew he wasn't going to get in trouble with Reddington. The kid didn't like Jacob, not that Jacob had given him any reason to. So what was his deal?_

" _Jacob." The kid had dressed and was offering Jacob, not only Jacob's jacket, but also his own scarf. The kid had also used his name for the first time. After a moment Jacob accepted both items of clothing._

" _Alright Dembe, fine. We go now."_

"What the hell are you smirking about? You think this is funny, dragging me here to wait for an hour?" Jacob returned from his recollections, to find to find Elizabeth Scott glaring at him. Apparently escaping the tedium of their present situation via daydreaming was not allowed. Reddington had been teaching him about memory palaces, which were useful thing to escape to during long periods of captivity or in this case lengthy stretches in waiting rooms.

Intitally he'd wanted to pass the time talking to Scott, but she'd made it very clear that wasn't happening. She was still holding the whole 'break-in/blackmailing her boyfriend' thing against him. It was unfortunate, because he did enjoy verbally sparring with her. She was gutsy, unpredictable, and smart. Also very pretty.

Jacob slammed the brakes on that particular thought. He'd noted her beauty before and it hadn't worried him. There was no law against appreciating a girl's aesthetics. Of course that was all before he'd seen her live, in the flesh. Before he'd stood in the same room as her. Before the entire length of his body had be pressed against hers.

Never in his life had he experienced such an intense surge of attraction and it could not have fixated on a worse object. Not only was she under eighteen (only seven months under, but still), but she was someone who was obviously of great importance to Reddington. His objective was to earn Reddington's trust and the best way to screw that up was to act on his stupid crush.

"I didn't drag you anywhere. I told you that I'd bring you the file. You were the one who insisted on coming with me." The look Scott shoot him was a good reminder that even he did have less than honorable intentions, he'd have a snowball's chance in Hell of achieving them.

"Yeah, like I'd trust you to bring me the real file."

"That hurts, Lizzie." Scott's father had warned him about using 'Lizzie' as a diminutive. Scott reserved the name for her father, and her father alone. So why had he said it? If he had to guess it was because history had a nasty habit of repeating itself. At least there weren't any dressers around this time.

"You want to find out what really hurts, call me 'Lizzie' one more time." Jacob raised his eyebrow innocently.

"What's wrong with Lizzie? It's what your father calls you."

"And are you my father?" Not by a long shot.

"No, but I am your baby daddy, remember." Jacob smirked as Scott gritted her teeth. According to the official papers he'd drawn up to get into see his contact, he and Liz were an unwed couple who had recently given up a child and were exercising their 60 day right to change their minds. When he'd told Liz, she hadn't been happy.

"No, what you are is an ass. You couldn't have just told them you were my brother?" Jacob scratched his chin and pretended to think about that.

"Yes, I suppose I could have...but I didn't." He knew he should stop poking the bear, but it was so much fun.

"I hate you." Jacob chuckled at that one.

"People usually do when they first meet me, even my brother." He paused for a second. Why had he thrown that last bit there, about his brother? His MO was to get as much information from someone as possible while revealing as little as he could about himself. Reddington had taught him that. The one thing you definitely don't do is discuss your vulnerabilities.

"That doesn't surprise me. Even as a baby you were probably obnoxious." Scott had assumed he meant a biological brother. He probably should just leave it at that. But he didn't want to. Jacob suddenly realised he wanted to talk about Dembe with her.

The scores of shrinks he'd seen over the course of his life had all agreed on one thing; apart from the fact that he was an emotionally stunted freak; that talking about your problems could help you deal with them. He had in the past discussed things with Dembe, but he couldn't talk to Dembe about Dembe. Reddington was also too close to the whole situation. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world to speak to Scott about it, as long as he was careful. After all it wasn't like a farm girl from Nebraska was ever going to be able to use it against him.

"I wasn't a baby. I was fourteen, and he was fifteen. We were foster brothers. He threw me into a dresser, and cracked my skull. To be fair, I'd provoked him a little first." Jacob waited to see if she'd took the bait, despite her stated intention of conversing with him only when it was absolutely necessary.

"I'm shocked. So are you still close?" Jacob smiled. He didn't care if it was boredom or good manners that had prompted the inquiry, he was going to take the opening.

"Yeah. Or a least I thought so, until the idiot got into his head he wanted to move back to his "homeland" Africa. It's not even like he had a lot of happy memories there. I don't get it." Jacob's gut twisted with the old anger. Dembe had left before Jacob had been released from his mandatory bedrest. Dembe had told him that he wanted to go before Jacob recovered and decided to 'do something rash' to prevent him from leaving. Jacob had been toying with the idea of telling the freedom fighters Dembe was a mercenary hired by the government to drawn them into an ambush and that agreeing to meet with him would be tantamount to suicide. Still, it had just been the product of an idle mind, restless with the boredom and helplessness of being stuck in a hospital bed. Jacob wouldn't really have gone through with the plan. Probably.

"Roots are important to some people. It probably felt like something he had to do." Jacob could not believe what he'd just heard. What he'd wanted was her agreement, that yes, Dembe was being stupid, letting himself being pulled backward into that mess of a continent. For the first time since he met her, he found himself getting angry with Elizabeth Scott.

"Of course you would take his side." Scott narrowed her eyebrows at his accusatory tone.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He knew he shouldn't do this. He was mad, and most of that angry had nothing to do with Elizabeth Scott, but suddenly his mind was making parallels between her choices and Dembe's. Hadn't she selfishly abandoned someone who cared about her to chase her past, just like Dembe had? Hadn't she jeopardized her future for the sake of this stupid quest?

"I mean why are you doing this? What do you hope to get out of it? You want to know who your real family is? How about the guy who took you in when you had nothing. Who fed you, and taught you, and loved you. The guy going out of his mind because his daughter took off without even telling him why." Scott's face flushed with anger.

"I know Sam is my family and that is exactly why I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to jump to the same stupid ass conclusion that you did. I'm not an idiot. My birth parents probably either ditched me, or died. I'm not expecting some kind of tearful reunion with those people, whoever they are. That fantasy died a long time ago." Jacob blinked. This was news to him. His indignation blew out of him as quickly as it has flowed in and all he was left with was genuine bewilderment.

"Then why?" Scott was silent for almost thirty seconds before responding.

"Do you like read?" That seemed out of left field, but Jacob assumed she was going somewhere with it.

"Yes."

"Okay. Imagine someone's given you this book and you start reading it and it's great. It's the best book you've ever read. Then suddenly you realise that someone ripped out the first chapter. You try not to let it bother you, but after a while that first chapter is all you can think about. It might be boring, or horrible, and it could had very little to do with how the story's going to end, but even so, wouldn't you want to read it? Wouldn't you need to read it?" Blue, imploring eyes stared into his and for the first time he saw a hint of vulnerability. They were the eyes of a girl who was searching for the truth. She wasn't looking to trade up for a better family, she was just looking for an answer.

"Maybe I would." A heartbeat passed, and for the first time, Liz smiled at him; a small, but genuine smile. Jacob momentarily forgot to breathe.

"Ms. Walsh? Mr. Evans? Mr. Reeves will see you now." Jacob broke eye contact and stood as Liz did the same. He motioned for her to go ahead of him, following the assistant to appropriate office. Jacob only hoped whatever answers they found there were the ones Liz was looking for.


	7. Lucky

Jacob glanced at the dashboard clock and found to his dismay He'd only been on the interstate for eleven minutes. It felt much longer. His gaze traveled to the grim-faced occupant of his passenger seat. Jacob's stomach clenched in an unfamiliar way.

This should have been a good moment for him. It had been less than an hour since Jacob and Elizabeth Scott had left the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services and begun the drive to the girl's home. She hadn't argued with him, or tried to renege on their deal. In a few hours all of his efforts will have paid off and he'd be returning to Reddington's side with his mission accomplished. This should have made him happy. He was going back to where he belonged.

Over the past few weeks Jacob had found that he missed the older man's company. He missed Reddington's quirky anecdotes. He missed being prodded to try some seemingly inedible dish. He missed sharing a quiet drink after a successful business negotiation. Despite wishing to return to his long-time companion however, Jacob's feelings about leaving Nebraska were muddled.

Elizabeth Scott shifted slightly in her seat and Jacob forced himself keep his eyes on the road. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, of course. It was the girl. He was unhappy because the girl was unhappy. Why was anyone's guess.

According to the file he'd once stolen from his social worker, Jacob had an 'attachment disorder.' He 'lacked empathy' and 'struggled to form emotional bonds'. For the most part Jacob couldn't argue with that assessment. Even with Dembe, the caring had come gradually. With Liz it was different. He only spent a few hours in her company and yet somehow it had been enough for him to connect with her. It was probably for the best he'd be cutting with the farm girl sooner rather than latter. If she had this effect on him now, he couldn't imagine what would happen if he stayed.

Jacob shook himself. He couldn't believe he'd even allowed himself to entertain the thought. Jacob Phelps, settling in Nebraska, just to be close to some girl? It was beyond ridiculous. He had to do something, distract himself from his errant thoughts.

"You okay?" Brilliant opening line. Reddington would have been so impressed with his conversational skills. Liz didn't even bother to turn her head away from the window.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jacob's mind flashed to Elizabeth as she'd been inside Reeves' office. The caseworker had been jumpy when he'd passed the file into Liz's eager hands. Jacob had forced himself to respect her privacy and not read over her shoulder. Instead he'd kept his eyes on Reeves, who he'd been concerned might pass out from the terror over breaking department policy. He'd been sweating like he'd just turned over nuclear missile codes to the Russians.  
They'd all sat in silence for ten minutes as Elizabeth read and re-read the documents. At last she'd stood, put the envelope on Reeves' desk and told Jacob she was ready to go home. That was the last thing said to him in the past forty minutes.

"You seem quiet."

"Unlike some people, I don't talk unless I have something to say." Jacob was silent a moment as he weighed his options. Clearly Elizabeth wasn't eager to share her thoughts with him. On the other hand she was obviously having some kind on internal struggle. If he kept prodding she might change her mind and choose to vent to him.

"Do you regret reading the file?"

"None of your damn business." Jacob smirked at Elizabeth's increasingly spiky tone. If he kept going, she was definitely going to explode.

"I'm just saying if you wanted to talk about it-" Elizabeth suddenly turned to Jacob eyes flashing dangerously.

"I don't, so stop bugging me!" Jacob glanced at his passenger's face and registered that the expression was very similar to the one she'd wore before she'd flipped a table over and attacked him. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn't have minded sparring with Elizabeth Scott, but given that he was currently driving at over 60 miles per hours, now probably wasn't the best time for a physical altercation.

"Copy that." It was time to change tactics. Fortunately he had a plan B already in place and Liz's comment had inspired him.

Jacob kept his left hand on the wheel of the car while his right groped for the top of the storage compartment between his and Liz's seats. He flipped the lid open and withdrew a plastic case.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting in a CD. You clearly don't want to talk. We have two more hours on the interstate, and radio reception tends to be unreliable." He slide the metallic disk into the player and advanced to the fifth track. He grinned as the rapid beats blasted out the car's speakers.

"Are you serious?" Jacob turned to her, his face a picture of innocence.

"What? I like this song." It wasn't a lie, technically. Admitted he'd had hadn't been an immediately convert to Destiny's Child, but there was something catchy about the rhythm of this track at least.

"Bullshit." Jacob's smile widened. If she didn't believe that he was indeed a fan, he'd be more than happy to demonstrate for her. He started bopping his head to the music.

"I wanna put your number on the call block.  
Have AOL make my emails stop,  
cause you a bug a boo.  
You buggin what? You buggin who? You buggin me,  
and don't you see it ain't cool."

As Jacob sang, he watched Liz out of the corner of his eye. He could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to suppress a smile at his antics. This spurred him on to an even more impassioned performance, until finally he had her laughing.

"You're an asshole." There was no venom in her insult, in fact it was almost affectionate. A warm feeling washed over him, as he looked at her chuckling over his clownish behavior. He'd made her happy, if only for this brief moment. He took a strange amount of pride in that.

"Come on, you know you want to..." He nodded at the speakers.

She rolled her eyes, then began half-heartedly, "When you show up at my door you're buggin me."

Jacob joined her, "When you open up your mouth, you're buggin me.  
Everytime I see your face you're buggin me,  
you're buggin me, you're buggin me."

By the time the song finished they were both in stitches. Jacob was perfectly willing to continue their car karaoke, but Liz reached out and hit the stop button on the player.

"Why'd you kill my jam?" He was genuinely confused. He had thought they were both having a good time.

"Destiny's Child is not your jam. You got that CD because of me." Jacob considered lying, but found he didn't really want to. Instead he decided on the route of verbal ambiguity. It was a technique he'd learned from Reddington, who was a great fan of obscure truth.

"I noticed their poster in your bedroom, but that doesn't mean I can't like them." Jacob answered Liz's sceptical look with a shrug. "It's true. I travelled a lot growing up and the man who raised me believed in embracing a broad range of cultural experience. Have you ever heard of Tuvan throat singing?"

"No."

"It's impressive. These guys can sing two to four notes at a time. Of course it isn't always melodic. At certaining points the singer can sound like they are burping for a really long time." Jacob's mind flitted back to the festival Reddington that dragged him and Dembe when they were 15 and 16. At one point they'd looked at each other and burst out laughing. Reddington had scolded them, but the glint in his eye had told Jacob that he hadn't really been angry.

"You're making this up. I bet Tuva isn't even a real place." He wasn't surprised Liz hadn't heard of it. American public education didn't really bother with world geography, at least beyond the "big name" countries.

"It is...though now it's called Tyva. It's on the northern border of Mongolia." Jacob's seven years with Reddington had been much informative than a high school and college education would have been, at least were global knowledge was considered.

"And you've been there? To Tyva?"

"Yes." They'd spent two weeks hiking, rafting, and trekking through the Sayan mountains. Jacob had appreciated the aesthetics of the landscape, but he was thrilled when they had finally returned to civilization. He could only take so much tranquillity, not to mention time away from hot showers.

"Where else have you been?"

Jacob shrugged. "A lot of places. Greece, France, South Africa, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Thailand, England, Argentina, Poland, Columbia-"

"You bullshitting me right now?" He could understand why it would sound far-fetched. Elizabeth was seventeen and she hadn't yet left her home state, let alone the US. Jacob was only four years older than she was and had already visited six of the seven continents.

"I was raised by an international businessman. We travelled a lot." Of course most of the places he'd visited hadn't been for vacations. There'd been quite a few times they'd been crossing borders to evade police authorities and then departing immediately for a destination across the globe.

"You're telling me, you've been around the world and yet you choose to set up shop, here, in Nebraska?" Jacob paused a moment, wanting to be careful with his answer. Elizabeth believed he was a local private eye hired by her father. Reddington had made it clear that no one know should know anything about his investment in the girl, including the girl herself.

"You don't think much of your home state do you?" Liz snorted, apparently accepting his deflection for the moment.

"We both know Ohama isn't exactly Paris." Jacob smiled. Why was it girls were always so obsessed with Paris, like it was some romantic Mecca. The reality wasn't quite what they imagined.

"Which frankly is a good thing. Paris smells like pee." The horrific odor was the number one thing that tourist brochures did not advertized about the 'City of Lights'.

"What?"

"If you're a man it's totally legal to urinate on the street, so the city smells like pee." Jacob was pretty sure people peed in the streets in every city in the world, but at least in most of them it was frowned on, if not illegal.

"But it's not legal for women?"

"I know. Sexism, am I right?" Liz laughed, then her express sobered.

"I still rather be there than here. Nebraska feels so small sometimes I can barely breath." Despite the miles of nothing currently surrounding them, he understood what she meant. Nebraska was in many respects a nice place to live. It was scenic. It was safe. For many people it would be idyllic. Unfortunately for her, Liz clearly wasn't 'many people'. It was too static, too dull for someone like her. She needed a challenge, an adventure.

"Do you mind if I give you some advice, as someone who has travelled pretty much anywhere you can imagine?" Liz made a face as though she'd swallowed something sour.

"Let me guess: 'There's no place like home?'" Jacob smirked at the Wizard of Oz reference. Having never had a home, he was in no position to assess the veracity of that statement.

"No. Traveling is great, but where you go doesn't matter nearly so much as who you go with." Jacob thought of Reddington, Dembe, and Mr. Kaplan. Any memory of wonder, discovery, or joy that he'd possessed had been with one or all them beside him.

"You really love them, don't you?" Jacob glanced over at Liz sharply, "Your brother and foster Dad." Love? Liz threw out that word like it was so simple. It wasn't, at least not for him.

"I'd have nothing without them. I'd be nothing without them." If Jacob had never met Reddington he would have probably spent his life on the streets, until the police eventually caught him. Then it would have been off to Juvie for him. He wouldn't have met Dembe. He would have grown up alone, with no one caring if he lived or died.

"I get that. Sam is...my whole world." Jacob felt a wave of mutual understanding pass between them. As different as their childhoods had been, they both knew what it was to be saved.

"You're lucky. We both are."

"You never finished the story about your brother. What happened after he threw you into the dresser and cracked your skull?" Jacob was surprised she remembered what he'd said to her in the waiting room, let alone was interested in hearing more. Even more astonishing was that he wanted to tell her. He let his mind drift back to the day that had changed the course of his life.

* * *

 _The address on Dembe's card didn't belong to a doctor's office or a clinic. Instead he found himself sitting in basement of a Brooklyn brownstone. There was medical equipment, and what appeared to be a patient table, but somehow Jacob doubted that this practice was listed in the phone book. That probably wasn't a bad thing. Reddington clearly had money, and he wouldn't have instructed Dembe to use this physician if the man didn't know what he was doing. A competent doctor willing to overlook legal restrictions was a good acquaintance to have._

 _"You've been to this guy before?" Dembe nodded once. Jacob waited a moment before determining his babysittee wasn't planning to elaborate._

 _"Why?"_

 _"I was unwell." Before Jacob had a chance to deliver a sarcastic retort, the door opened and a large bearded man strode in. Dembe stood immediately and extended his hand in greeting._

 _"Dr. Koslov." The bearded giant laughed, crossed the room in two bounds, and seized the offered limb._

 _"Dembe, my fine lad. It is good to see you looking so robust. Mr. Reddington was right when he claimed you had a strength many growth men would envy. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous. I am confused to see you here alone, without him. He is well I trust?" The man's English was perfect, but his ascent was definitely foreign. Definitely eastern European._

 _"Yes, he is well, but Jacob is not." The doctor turned his attention toward Jacob, who pulled off his cap._

 _"Come here, boy." Jacob complied and the man began removing the bandages Dembe had wound around his head. Jacob winced as Koslov inspected his head wound._

 _"You are fortunate. I think we can get away with two staples. I assume this will go on Mr. Reddington's account?" Dembe opened his mouth to speak, but Jacob cut him off._

 _"Actually no, I'd like to cover this myself...assuming we keep this visit between us." Dembe's face darkened with disapproval._

 _"You should not ask Dr. Koslov to lie to Raymond." Jacob shoot a return glare toward Dembe._

 _"I'm not asking him to lie, just to not to volunteer the information. That's covered in patient confidentiality, isn't it?" Jacob twisted his head to check the doctor's expression._

 _"For ordinary doctors, yes, however I am not an ordinary doctor, nor is Mr. Reddington an ordinary patient." Jacob's stomach sunk. Of course this guy was in Reddington's pocket. He should never had come here._

 _"So you won't do it?" The doctor studied Jacob's face for a moment before sighing._

 _"Given that the injury isn't too serious and that you are not Mr. Reddington's ward, I'm willing to hold my tongue on two conditions: 1) You can pay me the $500 fee and 2) You can convince Dembe to likewise maintain his silence. I'll give you a few minutes alone to discuss it."_

 _Jacob waited until Koslov had left the room before turning to Dembe. Everybody had a price, Jacob just needed to find his. "How much is going to take to keep you quiet? $100? $200?" Dembe's glower became even more pronounced._

 _"My honor is not for sale. I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions." The ward of the shady Mr. Reddington was a damn choir boy. Fan-fucking-tastic._

 _"Easy for you say. What's the worst Reddington's going to do to you? Ground you? That will a real hardship for the guy who didn't even want to leave the hotel room. Versus me, who will be out of the best paying job I've ever had. The job that was going to keep me fed for months. Have you ever been starving, Dembe? Not hungry… but starving?" Self-righteous was easy for people who had nothing at stake._

 _"Yes." Jacob blinked. That wasn't the answer he'd expected. It was hard to imagine the huge boy having ever missed a meal. Then again the doctor had mentioned Dembe's 'miraculous' recovery. Maybe the kid's life had been harder than Jacob had assumed._

 _"Then do you get why I might not be real eager to feel that again?"_

 _Dembe was silent a moment before nodding. That was a promising start. What else could Jacob say to convince the guy not to rat him out? Would an apology work? Dembe had cracked his skull, but Jacob had deliberately provoked him. They both shared the blame for what happened._

 _"Look...I was a dick. I know that. And I get that you don't want me around. That's fine, that's nothing new for me. If you want me to not say another word to you for that rest of the week, I'll do it, but I need this job. Please." Jacob couldn't remember the last time he'd used that final word with anyone. He only hoped it would pay off here._

 _Dembe was quiet for nearly thirty seconds before reaching a decision. "I won't lie to Raymond...but I won't expose any falsehood you tell. You can even tell him we left the hotel, if you'd like. Get your $200 bonus."_

 _"You know about that?" Had Raymond told Dembe before Jacob's had arrived about the details of their deal?_

 _"I was listening at the door." Yet again Jacob's massive charge surprised him._

 _"Kind of sneaky for someone as honest as you." The kid clearly had layers, Jacob would give him that._

 _"Raymond is honorable is his own way, but I have found him less than forthright, on occasion." For a non-native English speaker. Dembe sure knew some fancy words._

 _"Forthright? Seriously? Do you read the dictionary for fun, or something?" For a moment the older boy looked almost embarrassed._

 _"I enjoy books. Raymond reads to me, when he has time." Jacob pushed down the unexpected feeling of jealousy. It was stupid to envy Dembe his relationship with Reddington. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He certainly didn't need anyone to read him bedtime stories._

 _"There's a library near the hotel. I can bring you some books tomorrow, if you want." Jacob had 'borrowed' one or two in the past and had yet to be caught. He could probably sneak out a few more if Dembe was interested._

 _"I would appreciate that. Thank you." The older boy smiled at him, and Jacob unexpectedly found himself smiling back. Maybe the week wouldn't be a nightmare after all._

* * *

"So then what happened?" Liz's voiced pulled Jacob back into the present.

"The doctor fixed me up, good as new."

"And your brother kept your secret?" Jacob nodded. When Reddington had returned that night, Jacob had told him that they'd hung out in the room all day. Dembe had seemed surprised, given that he'd agree not to contradict any story Jacob came up with. He'd assumed Jacob would want to take advantage of the opportunity to get the extra $200.

Jacob had considered it, but in the end he'd decided not to. He told himself it was for practical reasons, that such a lie would be more easily exposed, but in reality it hadn't felt right, particular after Dembe had reimbursed Jacob for the money he'd spent at the doctor.

"Yeah. First time anyone ever did anything like that for me." Dembe had shown him mercy that Jacob had done nothing to deserve.

"He sounds like a good brother."

"The best." Jacob felt an unwelcome pang of loneliness. It had been over a month since he'd spoken to Dembe. He hoped his brother was keeping himself safe. Jacob didn't know what he'd do without him.

"You're lucky. I always wanted a sibling. A part of me was hoping that maybe I already had one." It took a moment for Jacob to realise Liz was talking about the file. It was funny that she wanted to discuss it now, when less than thirty minutes go she'd nearly bitten his head off for asking.

"You were an only child?" Liz nodded.

"As far as the State of Nebraska knows I am. Although apparently my biological father was a con man who ditched me to go the lam, so who knows." Jacob could hear the undercurrent of anger beneath the flippant tone.

"And your mother?"

"Died in a fire, that she may have started herself. The report was 'inconclusive.'" No wonder Liz hadn't felt like sharing what she'd found in the file. She was probably expecting him to respond with an 'I told you so.'

"Could have been worse. She could have been a negligent crackhead like my birth mother." Liz turned sharply to look at him. Jacob shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that after all these years he wished he could actually feel. "Family isn't blood, and blood isn't family. I think we both made out alright."

"Yeah, I think we did too." They fell into a companionable silence, very different from the one they begun the trip with. Jacob found that he no longer dreading the length of the ride, but rather it's conclusion. He didn't want to drive away from Liz, knowing he'd never see her again. Stupid and sentimental of him, but it was what it was. Jacob looked over at Liz and found her looking out the window, smiling at the seemingly endless fields stretching to the horizon. She was happy. They were both going home. It was enough.


	8. The Contractor

Jacob stared at the red numbers on the digital clock, willing himself to fall back to sleep. In the past 42 hours he'd snatched maybe five cumulative hours of rest. Jacob shifted his position and counted backward from 100, but was no use. His mind was buzzing and apparently even his recent physical exertions hadn't been enough to quiet it.

Jacob carefully eased off the mattress so as not to wake the woman lying beside him. He pulled on his boxers and crossed the room to the computer desk. A quick glance at the monitor told Jacob he wasn't the only person in the apartment complex with trouble sleeping in. He watched Elizabeth Scott doing crunches in her living room, blissfully oblivious that her workout was being observed.

Eight years had passed since he'd last seen Liz, but her face remained so familiar to him. When he'd returned to Reddington all those years ago, he had disassociated himself with Elizabeth Scott. He never sought further information from Reddington. He never did so much as a Google search.

This wasn't to say, however, that he wasn't aware of the broad strokes of her life. He'd acquired the information accidentally, through a comments innocently dropped by Reddington. It wasn't Jacob's fault that he had had perfect recall of each and every one of those facts. It wasn't his fault that he knew she had graduated at the top of her class from the University of Baltimore or that she did her graduate work in Forensic Psychology at The University of Columbia. He couldn't be blamed for knowing that she started with the FBI's Mobile Psych Unit out of NYC in 2009, nor that she was currently on loan a DC Task Force hunting the Good Samaritan Killer.

Jacob had been surprised and a bit disappointed to learn Liz had pursued a career in Law Enforcement. The girl he'd met in Ohama had been volatile, wild, and a little ruthless. She was one of the last people on Earth he would have picked to choose a life dedicated to following and enforcing rules.

Perhaps it was the risky nature of her job that had drawn her to it. Elizabeth was hunting the most dangerous people in the country, or at least the most dangerous people the FBI knew about. Jacob was well acquainted with the rush of dancing on the edge of a knife, but he felt Elizabeth had picked the wrong blade to try it on. Liz wasn't suited to the side of the law she'd aligned herself with, at least not the seventeen-year old Liz he'd known. She may have cleaned up her act in the intervening years, but in Jacob's experience people couldn't change who they were.

"What are you doing?" Jacob glanced back over his shoulder at the gorgeous blonde in the bed. He hoped his chagrin at being caught studying Elizabeth Scott wasn't evident on his face. He gestured to the papers that were haphazardly spread across the computer desk.

"Working. That man is still out there." Before he and the contractor had begun their extracurricular activities, they had been on official business. Nineteen hours ago he'd received a call from Ms. Hartwell that her protectee, Elizabeth Scott had had an uninvited guest in her apartment.

At approximately 10 am, long after Scott and her boyfriend had left for work, a single man, dressed baseball cap, sunglasses, and a cable uniform had broken in and copied the contents of Scott's personal computer. The intruder had rifled through Scott's belongings and papers, taking photographs, then returning everything to the exact place he'd found it. Whoever the guy was, he was both thorough and efficient, making it in and out in less than fifteen minutes.

Every instinct Jacob had screamed the man was a professional, but working for whom, Jacob hadn't the slightest clue. He wasn't even sure what the man had been after and that bothered Jacob more than anything else. He didn't like not knowing things.

"You worried about Little Miss FBI? You don't think I'm capable of protecting her?" Jacob smirked at the woman's question. Reddington had an intense distaste for the St. Regis program, despite sharing some kind of history with the school's founder. For years he'd avoided contracting any operatives associated with the school, despite the fact they had an unbelievably high success rate. When Reddington had decided Elizabeth Scott had needed protection however, he'd violated his self-imposed boycott. Shubbie Hartwell, as this woman was known to Jacob, was supposedly the best of the best.

"I would never dream of implying you weren't good at your job, Ms. Hartwell. Mr. Reddington is very satisfied with your performance thus far." That may have been overstating things. Reddington would have been considerably happier if Hartwell had been able to apprehend the intruder, but she'd been parked in a car thirty minutes away at the time of the break-in, following her primary directive of keeping eyes on Scott. Still, even an agitated Raymond Reddington had to be reasonable enough to recognise the woman couldn't be in two places at once.

"How about you, Mr. Phelps? Are you "very satisfied" with my performance?" The seductive purr in the operative's voice convinced Jacob to turn around and give her his full attention. Wavy ash blonde hair, large chocolate eyes, lush pink lips, and curves in all the right places. She was fantasy made flesh, which a distant part of his mind recognised was the point. It was part of St. Regis' graduates claim to fame: they were seductive, brilliant, and lacking in human empathy. The latter made have bothered some, but Jacob wasn't among them.

"I think you know the answer to that." Jacob wasn't so vain as to think Hartwell was solely interested in him for his own good looks, but he didn't mind. People used other people. It was the way of the world. If you were lucky, like Jacob had been, you'd stumble across a few exceptions, but for the most part people looked after themselves. He didn't resent Hartwell for attempting to sink her hooks into him, but if she thought whatever fun they had together was enough to impact his decisions or loyalty in any real way, she would be disappointed.

"Then why are you all the way over there rather than back here in this bed?" Tempted though he was, he had to decline.

"Because my boss is expecting an update in less than six hours." Jacob reluctantly tore his eyes away from the naked woman, and turned his attention back the evidence she'd prepared for him. Playtime was at an end for the evening. Now was the time to focus on the task at hand.

"You know this might not have anything to do with Reddington. The target does hunt serial killers for a living." Hartwell joined him at the desk wearing a black silk robe. Her tone had become harder, more professional, reminding Jacob of how quickly she was capable of shifting gears.

"Reddington has someone running down that particular possibility as we speak, but he expects me to focus on the theory that it very much is about him." The good news was that whatever the man was looking for, he clearly didn't find it. Hartwell had arrived too late to catch the intruder, but after reviewing the surveillance footage, she'd conducted her own investigation into the laptop's contents and come up with nothing. Scott's personal computer didn't have much on it except some personal photos, taxes forms, her music library, and a downloaded flyer from a dog adoption center. Certainly nothing that would be of interest to Reddington's enemies.

"What is his obsession with this woman anyway? Why go through the expense of having her protected?" Jacob wasn't fooled or amused by Hartwell's off-hand tone. Was this the question she'd been working toward during those passion filling wee hours of the morning?

"That's none of your damn business." Hartwell raised an eyebrow at the frost in his voice.

"It was an innocent question."

"You are many things, Ms. Hartwell, but innocent is not among them." She had been deliberately fishing for confidential information. The question was if she had been merely hoping to squirrell the information away for future use, or if she's been acting at the behest of someone else.

"You wouldn't like me half so much if I was." Hartwell deliberately ran a hand up then down his chest. Jacob intercepted her before she reached her final destination.

"Maybe not, but tread carefully." Hartwell was intriguing, it was true, but if she imagined that he wouldn't end her the second she turned on Reddington, she was mistaken. Hartwell's smile widened as she received his fairly blatant warning. She stepped backward, raising her hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

"Relax, I would never dream of betraying your boss." The operative sank down into the desk chair and crossed her legs, deliberately hiking the fabric of her robe up a few more inches. She really did seem to enjoy playing with him.

"Because you're so trustworthy?" The noise Hartwell would have a chuckle, if she hadn't stifled it the instant it came out of her mouth. God forbid an agent of the Major actually release a laugh into the universe. The walls of St. Regis would surely crumble.

"Because the potential reward is lesser than the potential risk. Reddington's reputation precedes him...as does yours." That was gratifying to hear, though that might have been the entire reason she'd said it. It never paid to underestimate a potential enemy.

"Good, then we won't have a problem. I'd hate for things between us to become...contentious." Hartwell shrugged philosophically, her lack of concern seemingly at odds with her prior statement.

"I don't know, I think war with you might be interesting...but for as long my contract is in effect neither of us will be finding out." That at least was consistent with St. Regis reputation. Once they were under contract, they stayed bought.

Jacob allowed himself to relax a little and return his focus to the surveillance man was going to be a nightmare to track. The angle of the camera, combined with the baseball cap meant they hadn't gotten one clear of the guy's face. Naturally the building had no exterior cameras, so Jacob didn't even know if the target of his search had walked to Liz's building, taken the metro, used a cab service, or driven there in his own damn car.

Given unlimited time, Jacob could probably work out a way find the intruder, but one of Reddington's many lessons over the years was the wisdom of delegating. Certain people had certain skills and a smart man knew when and how to utilize them. As it fate would have it the most talented tracker in the business worked in the DC area. Unfortunately he was also the most obnoxious tracker in the business. Jacob sighed and his eyes drifted over to the computer's split screen. Elizabeth Scott had left the living room and moved into the kitchen. He bent closer, unsure what he was seeing.

"Is she trying to cook a frozen waffle in a frying pan?" He glanced over at Hartwell for confirmation and the woman rolled her eyes.

"It would not surprise me. She's already set off the smoke alarm twice this month. Scott's probably more a threat to herself than whoever the mystery man is. I wouldn't be surprised if she lit the whole building on fire. You would think the stupid woman would learn her limitations." Jacob bristled at the slight to Liz's intelligence. Elizabeth Scott wasn't stupid, she was stubborn. She refused to quit in the face of adversity...or in this case the utter lack of culinary skills. He couldn't help but find that endearing. The old thread of sentiment tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him why he needed to conclude this business as quickly as possible.

Jacob began tapping on the computer keys, minimizing the surveillance feeds, and pulling up the internet browser. Hartwell frowned and stood, looking over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking up the hours of operation for a local DMV." And after the address of the nearest liquor store. If he was going to speak to Glen "Jelly Bean" Carter he was going to need a drink.


	9. Drivel

"I can't help you." Jacob inhaled slowly through his nose, counting back from five in his mind. He would not let Carter rile him. It was what the tracker got off on, and Jacob would not give him the satisfaction of seeing him upset. A calm and measured tone, that's what he needed. A calm and measured tone.

"Glen, I don't have time to play games. You already kept me waiting for sixty-five minutes, even though I was first in line when you opened-" Carter interrupted him, raising his hand in the air as if to fend off Jacob's accusation.

"My supervisor was on the prowl, and you alway make a big stink about discretion-" Jacob raised his own voice to speak over Glen's rambling.

"And now you want to sit there and tell me you can't help me? Seriously, man?" Carter's hands dropped to his sides and his shoulders drooped. He looked smaller than usual, deflated even. The space inside the office, which usually crackled with the DMV employee's maniac energy, felt dead.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I'm just not going have the time for next few months. Maybe if you come back after the New Year's I'll be available." Jacob said nothing, simply sat and let silence fill the air. He could do this, he could outlast Carter. The man mouth ran on a motor. If Jacob didn't respond to his nonsense the contractor would crack, and they would be in business. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Glen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Phelps, I got to back to work."

When the man started typing on his computer, Jacob realised he was really and truly being dismissed. Oh no. Whatever was going on with Glen, there was no way Jacob was getting the brush-off. He felt his grip on his temper begin to slip.

"Sixty-five minutes, Glen. Over an hour! And let me tell me tell you something: I have stayed in prison cells that were more sanitary than that that waiting room! I probably picked up swine flu, because you didn't have the courtesy to-" So much for maintaining his calm, professional demeanor. Jacob supposed he should have known better than to even make the attempt. Glen Carter was one of the only people on the planet who could rile Raymond Reddington, and Jacob didn't have a tenth of his boss' patience.

"You know what, you're not the only person in the world with troubles! My life hasn't exactly been a bed of roses lately!" Despite himself Jacob paused at the tracker's outburst. This was probably just another one of Glen's yarns, but what if it wasn't? Bad shit happened all the time and it was possible that something was genuinely bothering Carter.

"What's wrong?" Glen's expression twisted and he busied himself shuffling the papers around on his desk.

"Forget it." Jacob momentarily closed his eyes and thought of Dembe. Serenity, wisdom, and compassion. He could do this.

"I apologize if I seemed abrupt. Please tell me what's troubling you." There that sounded like his brother, more or less. Jacob waited and after a few seconds Glen ceased his straightening and sunk back into his chair. A pained expression played across the tracker's face.

"It's my brother. He's in court mandated rehab. Mom's beside herself. She wants to transfer him to some private treatment center in Maryland. Tranquility woods. She keeps talking about taking out a second mortgage to pay for it, but I'm terrified she'll lose her house." Jacob tightened his hands around the arms of his chair so he wasn't tempted to wrap them around Carter's throat.

"Glen, you're an only child." How Carter had survived this long was a mystery to Jacob. He couldn't be the first person to interact with the pathological liar who had longed to put him out of their misery.

"No, I WAS an only child. Apparently Dad was watering quite a few of his neighbor's gardens back in the day, if you catch my drift, and Steve sprouted up. He found us a couple of months ago and Mom's got such a big heart. She just welcomed him into our family. She says we've got to stand by him even after he stole her good jewelry to pay for his habit. She's just a marshmallow, and it kills me to see her like this.

And on top of everything else, I can't help thinking, 'What if it's me next. They say addiction runs in families. The next time you come to see me, I might have a crack pipe under my desk-"Jacob stood, unable to withstand one more minute of listening to the tracker's drivel.

"Goodbye Glen." He got exactly two steps toward the door before Carter called him back.

"Wait. I suppose since you're already here, and I need the money to pay the pawnbroker who my brother sold the-" Jacob slammed the file down on Carter's desk so hard the man actually shut up. The man did have some sense of self-preservation after all. Who knew?

"I need everything and anything you can find on this man." Jacob flipped open the folder and tapped the photograph Hartwell had provided. "He was last seen yesterday at 9:53 am breaking into 601 Edgewood Street NE, Apt. 2C. Call me when you have something." He didn't wait for a response before turning and heading out the door.

Jacob nearly plowed through a woman with walker and a beleaguered middle-aged dad in his haste to escape the DMV. A few mumbled apologies later he was standing on the sidewalk, breathing what passed as fresh air in the city. It was amazing how one five minute conversation with Glen Carter could feel like it lasted a year.

As Jacob pulled out his phone, he promised himself that this was absolute last time he would use Glen as a contractor. No matter how good the man was, the psychological toll just wasn't worth it.

Reddington picked up on the second ring. "Yes?"

"I spoke to Glen." A bemused chuckled greeted Jacob's ears, causing him to scowl. Easy for Raymond to laugh when he wasn't the one who had to suffer through the experience.

"Was he as charming as ever?"

"Pretty much, but he's on it."

"Excellent. Hartwell's security protocols seemed adequate?" Jacob carefully considered the question before answering. The operative's cameras were still in place, and remained undiscovered even with the break-in. She'd provided detailed intelligence on what the man been up to. Jacob could objectively say he found no fault with the agent's work.

"She's knows what she's doing. Scott's as protected as she can be, under the circumstances."

"Under what circumstances?" Jacob sighed softly. He shouldn't have said anything. Reddington did not appreciate unsolicited armchair quarterbacking. He briefly considered trying to walk back the comment, but he knew Raymond well enough that he wouldn't just let it go.

"You demanded that Hartwell maintain a careful distance from Scott and she has. The trouble is we both know it's a hell of lot easier to protect someone if you're standing right next to them, rather watching them through a scope." If someone for example attempted to abduct, or assassinate Scott in the middle of the night, there was no guarantee Hartwell would be able to reach her in time. Without Reddington's restrictions in place, Hartwell could have positioned herself as Scott's neighbor, or maybe even roommate. A close friend would have a hell of a lot better access to her and in the protection game, proximity mattered.

"You're suggesting I should have hired someone to infiltrate Elizabeth's life on a more intimate level?" Jacob could hear the unmistakable disapproval in Raymond's tone. The international criminal's sense of honor showed up in the most unexpected and inconvenient places.

"I'm saying that she'd probably be physically safer if you had." Jacob's assessment was met with a silence, prompting him to end the non-debate with, "But she's your friend's kid, not mine. That's your call to make."

"How generous." Clearly it was time to change the subject.

"Did your contact come through with the Good Samaritan file?" Jacob knew Reddington had an informant he'd tapped in order to investigate the possibility that this whole affair was connect to Scott's work with FBI. It would make everyone's life easier if it was. Serial killers may frighten the public at large, but they didn't stand a chance against an operative like Hartwell or a career criminal like him. Unfortunately Jacob suspected the man they were after was something else entirely. It could be the paranoia that last couple of years had nurtured in him, but to him, this felt like the enemy they'd been unsuccessfully pursuing, the one Newton had dubbed "the Adversity'. Dear God, Jacob hoped he was wrong.

"The agent left it for you in box 2142, Bradford Bank. I've already had the key messengered to your hotel." Then that was Jacob's next stop. It was probably a dead end, but Reddington hadn't trained him to bank on his own assumptions. Besides it wasn't like he had anything else to do while he was waiting for Glen to provide him with a lead.

"What alias am I using to access the box?"

"Thomas Vincent Keen." Jacob rolled his eyes. He hated that identity. The name sounded so forthright, so earnest. Not to mention the ridiculous glasses Reddington had chosen for him for the passport photo. They'd been perfect in that they made him look completely non-threatening, but whenever he wore them, he always had the lingering fear he'd be forced to fight in them. Being punched in the face while wearing glasses was not fun, nor was continuing the fight half blind. He knew from experience.

"Unless you have something else you need me to take care of, I think I'm going to stick with Hartwell. Two sets of eyes might be better than one."

"I'm surprised to hear you volunteering to work with a partner. You generally insist on working alone." Jacob heard the amusement behind the faux confusion in Reddington's voice and smiled. Their moment of tension had passed.

"You paid top dollar to secure the Major's best asset. I'd be an idiot not to...take advantage of that." Reddington chuckled softly at Jacob's implication.

"I trust I don't need to remind you to remain focused on the task at hand?"

"No, you do not." It went without saying that any woman, no matter how beautiful or talented in the bedroom would ever come before Jacob's commitment to Reddington or his agenda.

"In that case, let me simply remind you that in nature the most stunning creatures are frequently the most lethal." That was rich, Reddington of all people warning him off seductive and dangerous women.

"Sounds like someone recently had an unfortunately rendezvous with Dechambou...Or was it Pratt this time?" Jacob could not deny that the man had game, but he couldn't help but notice that a sizable chunk of Raymond's affairs seemed to end with his lovers attempting to kill him. The kind of thing had to wear on a guy after a while.

"I'll expect an update the moment you have new intelligence." The lack of response, and subsequent termination of the call strongly suggested Jacob had been right on the money. When this business with Elizabeth Scott was resolved, he'd push for more details. Until then he had an intruder to find, and a gorgeous blonde to both entertain and assist him. Things were definitely looking up.


	10. Nothing Ventured

Jacob had assumed when he'd left the DMV that morning the most trying part of his day was over. He'd downed some of his newly acquired Scotch which, despite not being of his usual quality, had taken the edge off. His trip to Bradford Bank had been uneventful. The case file, such as it was, had been in the deposit box. Reddington's inside man had delivered as promised.

The thinness of the manila envelope spoke to the general cluelessness of the FBI. Under ordinary circumstances, witnessing the Feds chase their own tails was amusing to him. This time, however, Jacob couldn't find it within himself to laugh.

"This is boring." Hartwell's complaint drew Jacob out of his thoughts. He glanced over to the bed where she was lounging, her eyes narrowed at Jacob's improvised case wall. He'd hoped mapping out the scant evidence would yield some kind of breakthrough, but so far no brilliant insights had been forthcoming.

"This is your job. One you're being well compensated for." It irritated Jacob to have to remind the woman she was under contract. Reddington had paid top dollar because Hartwell was supposed to the best of the best. Maybe McCready had sold them substandard merchandise after all.

"No, this the target's job, and I have no interest in doing it for her." Was it his imagination or had he heard an undercurrent of resentment in her comment? Her face was the picture of apathy, yet he could have sworn he'd caught a tone. It was one thing for Hartwell to be indifferent, or even disdainful of Liz. It was another if the agent was nurturing an active dislike.

"You said yourself the killer she's hunting might be our mystery man." Jacob watched carefully as Hartwell dismissively tossed her hair.

"That was before I saw the pathetic excuse for dossier the target had compiled. Three victims. No leads. No theories, just the stupid name. Why bother targeting someone so clearly incompetent?" He weighed the agent's words. She had a point. Perhaps the resentment hadn't been directed at Liz at all, but at him for wasting her time. He understood her perspective, and she was almost certainly right. The odds the Good Samaritan was involved in the break-in were exceeding slim. Still after what he'd witnessed earlier this evening Jacob had his own reasons for wanting this case cracked.

"If you're so much smarte,r then you tell me what the pattern is. We got three victims. Two Caucasian, one African American. Ages 46, 52, and 37. Two men, one woman. One mechanic. One lawyer. One electrician. Two have children, one doesn't. They are from different regions of the state. Their injuries aren't even the same." Nothing connected these people, with the exception of that 911 call. It was a small wonder that Liz and her colleagues had hit a wall.

"This "Good Samaritan" killer is insane. There is no reason for the things he does, just bad wiring in the brain. Trying to ascribe logic to his behavior is a fool's errand. He kills because he wishes to, and that is all." Jacob sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. Hartwell was over-simplifying. If Reddington had taught him anything, it was that nothing was random.

"No, there's more. If the point was the killing, why call for the ambulance? Why take the risk the victims live to identify him, or share something with the police?" These murders must have filled some kind of need. What was it Reddington always said? Make it personal.

"Perhaps the thrill is not the kill. Perhaps it's the torture." Something clicked within Jacob's mind. He was transported back to a conversation he'd had with Brimley, about five years ago. He'd asked the old man why he never seemed to repeat himself, methodology-wise with his interrogations. Brimley had explained that he tailored his tactics to individuals. Perhaps the Samaritan also subscribed to this philosophy, hence the variations in the attacks. Maybe that's the pattern the FBI missed, the connection, not between the victims, but between the victims and their injuries.

"That could be it." Jacob felt a strange rush of elation. He had no proof he was right except a gut instinct, and yet that instinct almost never failed him.

"What could be it?" He fought to suppress the giddiness in his tone. He didn't want Hartwell thinking he'd gone round the bend.

"Torture isn't one size fits all. That could be why the wounds were so varied. They're customized to the victims somehow." He'd done it. The thing he'd sworn to himself he'd accomplish as he'd watched Liz desperately trying to save Samaritan's third victim. A few scant hours ago she'd cradled the woman in her arms, not caring about the blood soaking into her slacks and blouse. Liz had done her best to save the victim, pressing down on her gushing wounds, but it had been an unwinnable battle from the start.

Even through his binoculars, at a distance of a 100 yards, he's known the second the woman had passed. Liz's body had hunched over in weary defeat, and as she'd turned toward the sound of the approaching sirens, he'd glimpsed her face. Anger, grief, and guilt. Most of all, guilt.

In that moment he'd learned something about Elizabeth Scott of which he'd been completely ignorant. She was a good person. A kind person. She cared about people, the same way Dembe did. He'd assumed it was the danger of the job that had attracted her to the FBI. He knew now it was more than that. She wanted to help others. A rare breed, and one that lived a far more painful life than people like him.

It had been dumb bad luck that Liz had been driving home when the killer had called in his latest victim. Even worse that she'd arrived before the ambulance. Now she'd spend the night torturing herself about how she'd failed. What she could have done differently. Hopefully her boyfriend would be up to helping her through it. He was a doctor. They were supposed to be good at good at compartmentalizing, right?

"It's certainly a theory, but what do you hope to do with it? Call the FBI tip line?" Hartwell's sarcasm jerked him out of his revelries. She had a point. He might have potentially cracked the case, but it wasn't like he could share it with the Feds. He couldn't afford draw attention by sending them an anonymous clue. Beside more likely than not they'd assume his note came from the killer and they'd waste more time chasing him than the actual Samaritan.

Jacob was spared having to respond by the sound of Liz's cell phone ringing. Hartwell swiftly hopped from the bed and opened a window on her computer.

"It's the boyfriend." She click on an icon and suddenly Jacob could hear both sides of the conversation.

" _-understaffed tonight and they asked if I could cover for a few more hours...I know tonight date night but-"_

" _No, it's fine. It's not like I've never bailed on you for work before."_ Why the hell wasn't she saying anything? The second Liz had walked through the door, she had grabbed a vase and hurled it across the room. Following that she had sunk to the floor and cried for a good half hour. It was NOT fine. She was NOT fine.

" _You sure? What are you going to do for dinner?"_ Couldn't this asshole hear the lie in her voice? Jacob sure as hell could. Couldn't he tell his girlfriend, whom he claimed to love, was in pain?

" _I'll probably just pick-up some dim sum from Wing Yees. I am capable of feeding myself, you know."_ Jacob ground his molars. This was ridiculous. He wasn't sure who he was more irritated with: the boyfriend for being oblivious, or Liz for putting on this performance of normalcy.

" _I just wanted to make sure you weren't planning on doing something rash, like using the stove again. I'm pretty sure we won't get the security deposit back if you burn the place to the ground."_ Haha. Real cute. Dumb jackass.

" _Funny man. See if I get you any Kung Pow Chicken."_ Kung Pow Chicken? Did the man lack taste buds as well as brain.

" _Just so long as you don't steal my cookie. I love you. Bye."_

" _Bye."_ Was Jacob the only one who noticed Liz hadn't returned the endearment? Did that mean something? More important question: Why did he care if it did?

"He's lying." That got Jacob's attention fast.

"What do you mean?" Hartwell tapped the screen.

"His tracking data says he's not at his work." What the hell? Jacob pulled out his phone and tapped in the address she had indicated.

"It's an italian bistro, thirty minutes away from the hospital." Blood boiled beneath Jacob's skin, the symptom of an anger he hadn't felt so acutely in years. He inhaled slowly. He needed to be calm. Rational.

He looked up at Hartwell, his face schooled in what he hoped was an expression of polite inquiry. "Shouldn't you go investigate that? I can keep Scott covered while you're gone."

The operative's eyebrow rose a half inch. "Investigate a man for lying to his girlfriend about where he is?"

"It's irregular behavior and there has been a security breach recently." That sounded nice and impersonal. Not at all like Jacob wanted to know if the doctor was cheating, so he could determine if he needed to wring the man's neck. Or give him a Mexican bow tie. Whichever.

"Nik Korpal's behavior isn't irregular, it's common enough to keep the world's PIs in business."

"How do you know he'd not involved in the break in?" Jacob was perfectly aware it wasn't exactly LIKELY, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Stranger things had happened.

Hartwell stared at him as though he'd suggested that black was white and down was up. "Because the man BROKE IN and Nik Korpal has a key. Besides the man is squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket."

"He has a large student loan debt, which makes him susceptible to bribery." Everybody had a price, even supposed boy scouts like the doctor. It was unwise to underestimate anyone's capacity for treachery.

The operative's lips pressed together, becoming a thin line, but Jacob stared her down. It might be completely unconnected to the larger crisis at hand, but Reddington didn't pay her to take chances. At last the woman relented.

"Fine. You stay with Scott, I'll look into Korpal. I'm telling you though, there's nothing there but a man tired of fucking the same woman for six months straight." With that pronouncement she grabbed her gun, her coat, and swept out of the apartment. Jacob had a feeling the moment Hartwell returned, he was going to be unceremoniously kicked out of her apartment. What's more, he didn't feel more than a twinge of regret at the prospect. Odd.

He turned his focus to Scott, who at the moment was not dialing Wing Yees or turning on that ridiculous reality show she found so relaxing. Instead she was just sitting there on her coach, mulling things over in her minds. It was exactly as he'd feared. She was obsessing, stewing in her guilt. Five minutes passed without her moving from her position. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. At last Jacob couldn't take it it any more.

In an admittedly impulsive move, he pulled out his burner and dialled the landline in Liz's apartment. He watched her jump at the sudden noise interrupting her drawn out silence.

" _Hello?"_

Jacob summoned his best frat boy persona, lowering his voice an octave for good measure. "Hey babe. This is Kyle. You gave me your number the other night? You free to hook up? We could hang out and watch Netflix, or...whatever." Jacob layered that "whatever" with as much sexual innuendo as he could manage.

" _You have the wrong number."_ Liz didn't wait for a response before she hung up on him. Jacob smiled at her peeved tone. Annoyed was far and away better than sad. He briefly considered re-dialing, just to see if he could rile her into full blown anger, but thought better of it. He was gratified to see that after only a minute's pause Liz herself was punching numbers into her cordless.

" _I'd like to place an order for pick-up."_ Jacob own stomach started to grumble as Liz spoke. Damn, he could go for some Chinese himself. That thought stuck in his head for longer than it should have. He couldn't. Could he? He heard Reddington's voice in his mind: _You were reckless._ Except wasn't Reddington the poster boy for 'nothing ventured, nothing gained'? Wasn't this a perfect solution on so many levels? Elizabeth shouldn't be by herself and he was sure that he could somehow find a way to share his insight, without revealing too much. It was possible, wasn't it? Jacob straighten his spine, having come to a decision. Whether it was or it wasn't, he was about to find out.


	11. Guardian Felon

Liz had chosen to face Wing Yee's primary entrance when she'd taken her seat. She may not have been an official law enforcement agent yet, but it was good to practice the appropriate habits. Even without Quantico training, she had her concealed carry permit, and thanks to Sam, the know-how to use her personal weapon. In the unlikely event of a violent incident, for example a rampage shooter, she was well positioned to see it first and respond.

Liz sipped her tea, remembering the other lessons her ex-grifter father had imparted. It was ironic that the skills she absorbed at the conman's knee were the same skills government agents were expected to hone. Sam had trained her to be constantly be aware of her surroundings, and to observe the habits of people in her vicinity. He'd used to take her to places like this and they'd play games where she's have to name the number of people in the restaurant or the color shirt of the person sitting behind her. Those games were the reason she'd chosen to eat in, rather than simply picking up her order and heading home. She needed the distraction after the day she'd had. Something to focus on besides the memory of the woman who'd died in her arms. The woman she'd failed to save. Liz slammed the breaks on that thought. She would not allow herself to get sucked down in that pool of self-recrimination.

A new customer emerged from behind the brick wall and Liz felt an immense wave of gratitude. He a perfectly timed diversion from her mind's darker musings. She cut a piece of her garlic chicken, using only her peripheral vision and her initial first glance to compile her list of attributes. Lean, athletic build. Around six foot. Grey wool overcoat. Black suit jacket, with a white collared shirt underneath. Black suit pants. Black leather dress shoes. Short dark hair. Stubble. Handsome...and familiar. There was a tickle in her mind, telling Liz she had seen this man before.

She resisted the urge to lift her gaze. The whole point of the exercise was to observe without drawing attention. The server seated the man directly across from Liz, albeit a few tables down. At least she'd have the time to place him. Liz decided a casual glance wouldn't be cheating, not if it appeared natural. She raised her teacup to her lips, and gazing over the top, found herself unexpectedly making eye contact with her subject. He offered her the small, polite smile of stranger, before looking down at his menu, but it was enough for Liz to trigger a spark of recognition.

"You!" The words were out of Liz's mouth before she had the sense to censor them. The man looked up, his eyebrow raised, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. After verifying there was no one there, he turned back to Liz.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Liz stood and slowly walked toward the man's table. Yes, it was him. She knew that voice. She knew that slightly cocky smile. Frank. Bacon. A flipped kitchen table. A waiting room in a government building. Singing Destiny's Child in a grey Mustang.

"You used to work as an investigator in Omaha. You broke into my apartment once and made me breakfast?" The man blinked, tilted his head slightly, and then smiled.

"Elizabeth Scott. My apologies. You look different from when I last saw you." She supposed she would, given that in her teen years she favored dark tees, leather jackets, and blue jeans. These days her go to was blazers and blouse. She noticed she wasn't the only one to clean up her look.

"As do you. Nice suit." His outfit suggested young urban professional. Successful. His clothing was tailored, not off the rack. Not exactly how she would expect a PI to dress...unless he was undercover, looking to blend with a corporate world.

"Thanks. Care to join me? Unless you're running home to your boyfriend?" Liz found herself unsure how to respond. The invitation was unexpected. They weren't exactly old friends who had bumped into each. Their brief relationship, if it could be termed that, had been largely antagonistic. Well...maybe not so such at the tail end. He'd been surprisingly kind to her after she'd learned the truth about her parents. In hindsight she had to admit getting her that information on her birth family and getting rid of Frank had helped her enormously. God knew where she would have ended up if this man hadn't brought their crime spree to an abrupt conclusion.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?" A stall, yes, but it might help her determine the intentions of her potential dining companion.

He gestured back to her table, where Nik's To-Go box was sitting. "Most people don't order a secondary meal for themselves." It seemed Liz wasn't the only one making observations.

"I could have a roommate." She wasn't sure why she was arguing the point. Maybe it was the absolute assuredness with which the PI had made his pronouncement.

The server arrived, forcing Liz to take a step back as a bowl of steaming soup was placed before him. After thanking the woman, he turned his attention back to her.

"True, but I went with boyfriend." Instead of elaborating he picked up his spoon, and dipped it into the dish. Raising it to his lips, he blew gently on the broth.

"Because?"

"You're an only child raised by a single Dad. Living with a man is probably easier for you than living with another woman." Liz wished she could tell him to stick his assumption up his ass, but the sad truth was, he wasn't wrong. If college had taught her nothing else, it was that cohabiting with other women was more drama than she'd care to take.

"I am living with my boyfriend, but he's at work right now." She'd stated very clearly she was in a relationship, therefore she was in no danger of him interpreting her choice to join him as flirtation.

"Well I insist, then. You owe me a meal, after all." Now it was Liz's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"I do?"

"Yes. I cooked a delicious breakfast, and you flipped it all onto the floor. I didn't even get to finish my famous gluten-free pancakes." Liz couldn't suppress a giggle at the PI's exaggeratedly woeful expression.

"Fine." Liz turned back toward her table, but the man gestured at the chair across from him and stood.

"Please, allow me." As he passed her to retrieve her dishes, Liz couldn't help but notice he'd left his overcoat behind. It bulging ever so slightly at the pocket, suggesting an untended wallet. That type of thing that used to send a thrill of excitement through her. An easy score. It would be so easy to pluck it right out before he came back. Finally learn the name of PI she'd been unable to track down after he'd sped away eight years ago. Suddenly the man was back at her elbow, the window of opportunity closed. He deposited her meal before her, and set Nik's off to the side.

He settled back into his seat and smiled at her, "So...what do you do for work these days? Still boosting cars?" He shot her such a knowing look she had the fleeting, but frightening worry that the man had somehow read her mind. Well two could play at that game.

"Retired. How about you? Are you still breaking and entering into people's homes?"

"Only on very special occasions." His tone was playful, and if under oath she honestly wouldn't be able to say if the man teasing her. Liz wondered if that was deliberate, to avoid incriminating himself.

"If that really is the case I should inform you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." She dug out her wallet and flashed him her ID. It would have been hard to miss the large 'FBI' printed on it, and yet the PI looked distinctly unphased.

"Employed by the FBI? Interesting line of work for someone like you." Liz's enjoyment of their banter fizzled out immediately.

"You mean someone with my background?" She felt her anger slowly rising. How dare he judge based on the private things he knew about her biological family? It was especially galling coming from him, who insisted blood relationships meant nothing by themselves. She wasn't her genes. She wasn't those people in that file.

"No, I mean someone who, as a teenager, pulled off a four month crime spree without getting caught." Liz had to admit that was...fairer than she thought he was being. Her actions were on her...but still she'd been a kid. Lots of people were less than perfect when they were young. She'd straightened herself out, moved past it.

"You caught me. On film, as I recall." Of course he'd mailed the negatives to Sam about a week after she'd returned home. They'd burned them together along with the copies.

"Well, I'm exceptional."

"Humble too." He wasn't wrong though. Exceptional was an apt term for this man. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was when he'd managed to track her down, and bring her to heel. He'd gotten rid of Frank, and in such a way that had made her never want to see him again. He'd convinced a government employ to break policy. He'd demonstrated intelligence, resourcefulness, and a disregard for the law. Had he changed course as she had, or was he the same, just with a few more years of experience under his belt?

"How's your brother?" If she recalled correctly that had been a topic he'd been eager, or at least willing to discuss with her. Liz's recollection earned her, yet another smile from her dinner companion. This one was slightly different, not mocking, but warm. Genuine.

"Good. He came back from Africa unscathed. We both work for our foster father now, so I get to see him pretty regularly. How's your Dad?" Liz snorted thinking back to her last conversation with Sam. He'd management to sprain his ankle hopping off the tractor.

"Good. Still living in the farm house. Flatly refuses to sell it and retire. Says it would make him insane and that he has no interest in spending his days golfing or taking pottery classes." She shook her head. The man was stubborn as a mule.

"It's funny isn't it?" The PI has cocked his head to the side as though an odd thought had just struck him.

"What's funny?"

"Most people spend their whole lives waiting for retirement. Waiting for a time when they have no obligations, when they spend their days doing exactly what they want. For your father, though, that sounds like torture. Pure utter torture. I think it's funny that the things that give some people pleasure, for example your boyfriend's Kung Po Chicken over there, can be unspeakably awful to someone else." His eyes were oddly intense, locked on hers as he made his point. Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes drifted over to the take-out box. Was that what was bothering him?

"If your nose is that sensitive, I'll put it away." Liz moved to picked up the box, but the PI waved her off with a laugh.

"That not necessary. My point is that what's injurious or unbearable to people is not one size fits all. Wouldn't you agree?" Liz shrugged. Certain things most people had an aversion to, but what was the worst varied. Some people hated bugs, others snakes, others heights. What some found to be torture…...torture…...torture…..

Liz's thoughts slowed to trickle, that one word on a loop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Torture. Torture. Torture. Suddenly her mind sped up ten times faster than before, visions of the victims flashing through her mind. The medicals reports. Different, all different. No pattern, unless the lack of pattern WAS the pattern. Individual. Not the same.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" She stood up and head toward the bathroom. After checking the stalls for occupantants, she pulled out her phone and selected a number from her contacts. After about six rings a familiar voice was in her ear.

"It's late Scott. What do you want?" His lack of enthusiasm was unsurprising. The fact she'd been called up from New York to join a DC task force had rubbed some of her new coworkers the wrong way. Colin Worth was one such individual. Unfortunately she knew he was also the person most likely to still be at the office at 6 pm.

"Colin. Great! I was hoping someone was still there." She needed to keep it friendly. Liz was going ask a favor, so it would help if she was nice to the jackass. She could do it. Really, she could.

"I was just grabbing my coat. I got some place I need to be tonight." Somehow Liz doubted that, but there was no point in calling the man on it.

"I just had theory about the case. We've tried to find connections between the victims and there was nothing. What if we look for a link between the victim and their injuries?" While talking to that PI something had jarred loose in her mind and she couldn't shake the feeling it was the key to the entire case.

"What are you talking about?" This wasn't good. Colin didn't sound at all interested in what she was saying. Liz had an instinct she was about thirty seconds away from being hung up on.

"There has to be a reason the killer's methods are so varied. What if he's tailoring them to the victims? What if they were injuries the victims had gotten before or maybe someone else they knew had gotten them before?" One size doesn't fit all. Wasn't that what the PI had said?

"Why would the killer do that?" Liz felt like throwing into the bathroom's tile wall. As far as she was aware this was the only theory any of them had come up with in the past month.

"I don't know!" Whoops, that hadn't exactly been calm or friendly. Liz took a deep breath. "Look Colin, I know it's late. I know this could be nothing. I know you think I'm a bitch. Honestly, you're probably right. If I could, I would head over there now and look into this myself, but I can't. I've been ordered to take a 48 hour leave. That psychopath is still out there, maybe choosing his next victim, so please, please look into this for me." There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Liz had started to think Colin had hung up when he voice once again came through.

"I'll call you back if it comes to anything." Then he hung up. No "Good idea!", no "Goodbye!" but it was enough. More than enough.

Liz walked back to the table feeling better than she had in month. There was a chance she'd done something right tonight. It felt good.

The good feeling stopped when she reached the table. No grey overcoat. No PI. Just her plate where she left it, across from a nearly full bowl of Wantong soup. Seeing her standing there, the server hurried over.

"Your friend got a call right after you left. He said it was a work emergency and he had to go. He paid for his food and yours. He said to say 'It had been a pleasure to see you again' and to 'give his regards to your father.'" Liz felt inexplicably let down. He'd vanished again, and she still didn't have clue who he was. She'd hadn't even managed to learn his name.

"I don't suppose he paid with his credit card did he?"

"No, cash." Of course. Liz dropped into her chair, a foul mood replacing her lighter one. Full circle. She dug into her chicken with renewed vigor. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. So what if the phantom PI had once again dropped off the face of the earth. He'd been there just long enough to have been an enormous help to her, just like he had been eight years ago. He was like her own personal guardian angel...That is if guardian angels did things like commit blackmail and B and E. So maybe not an angel. A felon. She raised her teacup in silent salute. To her guardian felon, whoever or wherever the hell he was.


End file.
